D-I-V-O-R-C-E

It was a scalding Texas Sunday not a cloud in the sky. My mother is taking my brother and me to the lake. We never went to the lake so I began to get excited about playing in the water. I also grew concerned, what did she have on her mind. Even at 6 years old I knew she always had an agenda. My brother was 3 years old and had no clue what the day would bring. We pulled up to the picnic tables on the far side of lake, nowhere near the water. She tells us our parents are getting  divorced. Not understanding what it meant I ask her to spell it for me. I kept repeating the spelling in my head so I could ask my friend.

I would find out sooner than later. We turned down our street, my grandfathers truck in front of  house with my father’s belongings. They were driving off as we rounded the corner. My parents relationship went from bad to hell My mother took every chance to tell us how much she hated my father. She married within six months, we called him Lucifer. He could get her closer to the white picket fence. We moved into a new house with a big back yard, things looked so normal on the outside. If people only knew the truth.

Custody was a nightmare, daddy would bring us home and she would throw things at him. One time she hit him in the head with the Sunday paper. This was the beginning of a twice a month cycle of harassment. After a couple of years we moved to the country population 137. It was almost a two-hour trip from my dad’s. One Thanksgiving my dad arrived 15 minutes early and she called the sheriff. My dad didn’t get out of the car, he knew he was early and she was crazy. It’s sad when parents separated or divorced talk bad about the other.

My mother did not abuse my brother. She physically and emotionally abused me from a young age.  Her grandmother and mother hated my dad. He forced her to get pregnant and I’m the mistake child. They would call our house ranting how I was mistake, ruined my mother’s future and how much they hated my father. We lived in a toxic environment because my mother was toxic.

The conflict between my parents reached a point where I had to pick up my brother to avoid fighting. My father was no angel but he never talked bad about my mother. My mother told me that daddy raped her and I was a mistake. She tells me several times a day, I hate your father and you’re just like him. At 9-10 years old it doesn’t take long to figure out your mother hates you because you’re just like your father.

I believed my dad raped my mother, I don”t know why. I held it in for years. I don’t know how we got to the topic. I was angry at my father and spit out what she had told me. The look in his eyes said everything. My father was so hurt and said I loved your mother.

When my father killed himself he had a lock box on the coffee table and papers spread everywhere. Their divorce papers were on the table, his Bible open to Job and a note pad with written words scattered on the page. No sentences, I did see the number for the suicide hotline and one of his oldest friends. Written in one corner was 11:00 and he died between 7-8 pm. I often wonder if it took him that long to pull the trigger or was he trying to fight his demons. There are tear stains in the book of Job.

 

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