She didn’t have one child but twin girls to raise
“You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.”
— C.S. Lewis
She didn’t deserve to be repressed or depressed. She was never going to live that way.
She was never going to teach her daughters that mistreatment was acceptable.
My father loved my sister and me, my mother too. He was stuck in a pattern that he wasn’t willing to learn how to break. Darkness consumed him — anger and violence, jealousy and hate. He inherited it. He learned it. He lived it.
He never broke the cycle.
My sister and I had a chance to break the cycle — to pass on nonviolence to generations following us. I chose not to have kids. My sister has two boys. She teaches them nonviolence daily. They respect nature, all people, material things, and the spiritual world. My sister puts her whole heart into raising them to be good people.
We broke the cycle.
My mother gave us a life we could enjoy. We knew her stress of putting food on the table, doing everything without help, working from home, trying to make ends meet. “We can’t afford that. We can’t do that. We can’t go there.”
We can’t. We can’t. We can’t.
That didn’t stop us from living a good life. We had what we needed, nothing more. We still went on vacations, camping in our van. We laughed, hugged, and had fun.
Most of all, we had each other — the three of us.
She taught us that “We can.”
She taught us to believe in ourselves.
My sister and I lived in our own world — without her, I’m not sure I’d have fared well. Our imaginations allowed us to ignore the dark adult world.
We escaped into our creative minds through writing, art, and imaginary play. We ventured to the woods. It’s where we felt the most disconnected yet connected.
My Mom had her hands full, and my Dad was too selfish and hard-headed to be a good father. My sister and I spent most of our time with Mom. She worked from home as a writer and did everything for us. Dad worked on his family farm and sawmill five days a week. He came home, ate dinner (prepared by Mom), and fell asleep. He watched sports on the weekends and fell asleep on the couch, cigarette hanging from his lips.
We moved out of his house when we were eight years old. We stopped visiting when we were twelve years old — after walking 10 miles from his home because we were bored and he was sleeping. He reprimanded us, but we laughed at him. His anger was humorous to us.
When he broke the news to us that they were divorcing, my sister and I celebrated! It broke his heart — we were oblivious. We were eight. We felt the freedom from turmoil coming! Mom decided to escape. Dad was never going to change.
I don’t think Mom ever thought twice about how hard it was going to be. It was easier than the life we were living.
She wasn’t running us to every sport or activity we wanted to be involved in or buying us new clothes from the mall. She was feeding us, keeping us safe, and keeping our heads in our academics.
I didn’t want to be involved in social activities. I felt safer to myself. As a teenager, I wanted new clothes but knew I couldn’t have them.
I felt a deep emptiness.
I knew my Mom loved me. I knew Dad made our lives harder.
I stayed sad and mad at him for all of my youth. As a young adult, I accepted him and built a relationship with him.
He fell ill when my sister and I were 30 years old. She was pregnant with her first child for his entire hospital stay until he passed away. Four weeks later, she had a baby boy, and I started my career as a Respiratory Therapist.
He didn’t heed the medical advice from the many doctors involved in his care when he could still make decisions during his illness. He didn’t trust doctors or the government. He decided he knew best, but it didn’t go well for him. He eventually lost mental capacity, his lungs gave up, and we had to let him go. His ego led to death at the age of 61.
He was always too prideful to make the right choices for his health and family.
My Dad broke my heart for the last time. I wasn’t ready.
But I knew Mom would be there — to walk me down the aisle, to watch me build a career, to hold me when I cry, to go camping together, to be a family.
