About my mom…..

I had some people contact me after my interview and ask what happened to my mom, so I thought I would blog it today. I’m avoiding work like the plague obviously. I use the term mom, but she is my step mom. I call her mom.

I think I stated before I was raised by my stepmom. Or rather, I was raised by my dad and my step mom and I were in the same house. We never really got along. As an adult, I know its because she came into this marriage with my dad and truly did love him, but she wasn’t ready for the whole family thing. She had more kids to make him happy, not because she really wanted a ton of kids. In a lot of ways she was immature. She was jealous of my relationship with my father and she made me feel afraid to call him on the phone, or to talk to him when he came home. I always felt I was bothering their time, although my dad didn’t make me feel like that.

I coached soccer with him just so we could have some alone time together. She would stand at my door and listen to see if I was calling him. I think one of my biggest memories of her is getting my period and being embarrassed and I was bleeding through my clothes. I didn’t know what to do, so I hid them and threw them away. When she found them, instead of helping me figure it all out, she threw all my dirty laundry on top  with the stains up so everyone could see and gave me a lecture on it. I shudder to this day.When I first moved into bras, instead of buying me a bra, she gave me some of her old ones.

But this post isn’t to complain about her. I loved her in the way that a child loves someone that makes their dinner. I did want to be friends with her. She was happiest when I asked her questions, especially what words meant out of books; we were both avid readers. So i would often make up that i didn’t know what a word meant, even if i did, and go ask her the meaning and the context just so she could help me and I would get a smile from her and she would treat me nice.

When I was 16, a big hurricane hit. We lost our home. I know her and my dad had been having issues for along time. Its not something you can hide in a house, just remember that. If you are argue with your DH, you don’t have to do it around or within hearing distance of a child, for it to be noticeable. The stress of the hurricane was the final straw and the divorced.

In the beginning I went to live with her. I felt some sort of odd responsibility to stay with her instead of my dad and i stayed in town with her and my brother and sister. To this day, I’m not really sure why. Eventually, my dad got a place and I moved in with him. I felt like i was betraying her, even though her and I didn’t get along too well. The move with my dad meant that I had to commute about an hour from one side of the city to the other to take my brother and sister to school and then get myself to school….all in my 1978 Chevy Chevette.

When I went to college, I moved about 8 hours away. When I came into town, I never saw her. I wouldn’t have even known what to say. For the 5 years I was in school, I rarely saw her. If i was home for the holidays and did a transfer with my bother and sister in the house, I would say hi. It felt odd. Someone I had spent 15 years of my life with, I wasn’t even talking to.

As I matured and got older, I understood her better. I wasn’t hurt by it all anymore, I was settled with it. Our relationship never really grew, but it changed. IT changed that I didn’t feel awkward around her and didn’t avoid seeing her if I was in town. If it happened, it happened, if it didnt, it didnt. My dad never said anything either way.

Eventually she got married and my dad also got married. For the first time in her life, she went to school. My dad paid for it..i am not sure if we were supposed to know that, but he continued to provide for her long after they were divorced. As she was a stay at home mom and didn’t have any education, he wanted to make sure she was properly trained to take care of herself, so he paid support, we are pretty sure gave her money, and sent her to school. She went to beauty school and started working in a salon. She was pretty good at it actually.

She started to be proud of HERSELF. She started to be happy.

But she married an abuser.

We are not sure when it started, if it was something that came before or after. He was an ex Vietnam vet and her age. My brother and sister from day one said they didn’t like him. Of course, we passed that off because they didn’t want their parents to divorce. They stuck to it, they didn’t like him. He sold vacuums for a bit. My dad, trying to be supportive, even bought one from him.

With her new job, my mom got a home. It was her first piece of property. She was starting to really be independent. She got a car, a home, and all the while, abuse was going on. She filed for a restraining order and divorce. We were all oblivious to it.

Meanwhile, I was in Florida staying at my in laws. My husband was in training in Alabama for the Air force for 6 weeks, so I was on a rare visit home while I waited for him. I had seen my mom the night before when I was up by her work. I stopped in to say hi. She was getting a promotion to manager.

The next morning. It was about 7am. The phone rings. Its my dad.

“Trisha, I need you to meet me up here at the school. Don’t take a shower, dont brush your teeth. Just come here.”

“Dad, are the kids ok?”

“Yes, they are fine. I need you to come now.”

“Ok”

My inlaws lived 5 minutes from the school. I jumped in the car and went up there to find him sitting with my sister in the car. She had been arrested, oh, 100 times by then, so I thought for sure something was wrong with her. My dad got out of the car and met me half way.

“Joyce was murdered”

“WHAT?!”

“Rick broke in and killed her and killed himself”

I just stood there stunned. My dad wanted me to go into the school with him, to get my 12 year old brother, and tell him as a family.

We walked in together. It was my elementary school from many, many years before. They called up my brother and we were in the counselors office. When he walked in, and saw all three of us, he had a look on his face. I don’t remember what my dad said. I can only remember the anguish.

I was 22. My sister was 16 and my brother was 12.

The days that followed were a blur. The news was everywhere. When you live in a small town, everyone wants a piece of you. On the front of newspapers, MURDER/SUICIDE in bold letters. On the news, her 911 call. We did everything we could to avoid it and keep it from the family. We would take the newspapers out of the stands near the schools, and keep the news off. Now, when I see a story about a tragedy, I feel for the family. To watch their lives on display.

My dad and I had to go to her house and take out her valuables. There Is nothing like the news making such a ruckus that people know a home is empty and they WILL come in and steal things, so we had to go into it and find what we wanted to keep safe, the tv, the computer, documents. We met the police at her house the next day, or maybe the day of. They told us, we could not go into the bedrooms. They had someone standing by the door. We did send the police in to look for her wedding rings, she kept them after her and my dad got divorced, but they were worth quite a bit. They found nothing (but that is another story entirely).

We took out what we could and I made a mistake. I didn’t go down the hall, but I looked down it. Part of me wanted to glace at the door. I felt guilt. I just saw her yesterday. I should have talked to her more. And there was blood up and down the hall in splatters. Blood on the pictures of my brother and sister in the hall way. A smear down the middle.

It will be an image I will never get rid of my entire life.

Later on we found out that after the divorce papers were served, he also lost his job. He came in, we think with a key left outside. We know she was in her room, and heard the door open. She called 911 and was screaming for him to get out. He chased her down the hall way and he shot her in the hand. She made it to her room and into her bathroom and he broke in and shot her to death in her tub. He then shot himself. We never even got to put him in jail. She fought hard. We were grateful my brother and sister were not home.

The years have been rough for my brother and sister. They have come to resent my dads wife, ultimately she is the only one left of the aftermath and they hate her for it, although she has nothing to do with it. In a way, they need someone to blame. If only my parents hadn’t divorced….if only………if only…….. I lost my step mom, but they lost their mom.

My mom had insurance. I was not named on it. $23K each went to my brother and sister, and my older step brother, her son. Immediately the money for the minors went into a trust fund, that they would both blow within a year of turning 18. Her son also took the money, let her house go into foreclosure by not paying the bills, and left her without a tombsone.

Chris and I bought her a tombstone for Christmas that year as a present to the family.

I went by last time I was in town. Just to clear off the weeds and to say hi. I am not sure what to say, we never talked about much anyway. So instead…I just asked her the definition of benevolent. I know she smiled.

~Trisha