My memory gets really bad in regards to the next couple of years. I remember a lot of things but isolated memories. Fishing with my father for instance. When I was younger he and I got along very well. I was daddy's lil girl. My mother gave him two daughters so I filled the role of a son. It was fun to go fishing, he taught me a lot and he taught me well. I can still take a tackle box and really clean up. This is where it gets hazy.
My mother had a hard time getting pregnant. They had children a little bit later than they wanted, it took 5 lost, to gain me. I was her miracle, her dream come true. So her joy in having me knew no limit. My sister, Sharon 3 years later than 3 years after that when I was 8 or 9 she had my little brother Frankie Jr.
It was horrible, I remember, it wasn't right from the beginning. At 9 I could see it even though they tried to keep the worry off us kids. We knew our mother and she wasn't right. One night there was a ruckus in our home, the same one we rented to my aunt and cousins upstairs. They took my mother to the Emergence room and Frank was born far too early. She was there for days before my sister and I could go see her. In the car my father kept talking about how to remember she was very weak and that we needed to tell her we loved her and wanted her home. when we got there my father walked us up the corridor to her room. I remember the smell, baby powder and excitement. We walked past all of the babies behind the glass and my father stopped and pointed to a Crib much larger than the others. It was all glass and had big round circles with rubber gloves on each side. A part of me understood it meant he was weak too. My fathers words were very deliberate.
"Your brother is weaker than your mother. He is very sick, we need to pray that Jehovah help him to survive."
My stomach twisted as I looked at him through the glass. He was so small and his skin almost seemed transparent. A machine clicked as his chest rose and fell. Plastic tubes everywhere making him look more like a botched science experiment than a baby. I remember loving him instantly. Knowing I wanted to hold him and tell him I would not let him hurt ever if he came out of there and home. Dad moved us along and to double doors with a window in it. Before we could look through my father knelt down and looked at us both with a pain I had never seen in his eyes.
“I don't want you to be scared, we have to be strong for her so she can get better and come home to us. Hug her, you cannot hurt her she needs you, We need each other.”
He stood up and my sister looked at me her perfect still blonde hair sticking to her wet cheeks. I wiped em off her with my coat and took her hand as my Father pushed the door open.
The woman in that room looked like a porcelain doll made my mother’s likeness body broken. Her Room was larger than my brothers crib, but the tubes looked the same. Pale and weak a smile obviously taking allot of her energy but she was so happy to see us she held her arms out.
"Did you see your brother?" her eyes were bright red and I could tell she had been spending a lot of time crying.
We ran to her but both of us slowed as we got close afraid to break her more.. She shook as she hugged us and made sure to spin our brothers situation in a much more positive way than my father. Her words were hope and promise. "He is in Jehovah's hands, and he is a loving God."
A Lot of the conversation is lost. but over the next few weeks, or was it days, or More likely Months. They Both came close to death many times. My Aunts were staying with us one weekend and I was playing in my bedroom but could hear them in the living room talking. What parts stick in my mind I know now were the important things. Things like, "They are such faithful servants of Jehovah. Refusing to accept blood. The brothers have been with them for days to strengthen them. If they survive it will be a testament to God’s Divine law, his plan and love for us!" this from my aunt. My Mother's twin sister.
I remember being so angry. She could live, my mother is fighting for her life, my brother could DIE and I don't even know what his cry sounds like. I spoke very little to anyone after that. They actually said I was praying for my brother and mother in my room a lot. When really I was angry. Angry that my mother would risk leaving us like that. Angry that she would Risk my brothers life like that. One day while I was watching T.V. the phone rang and my aunt answered.
She gasped loudly and my heart sank I was sure they were dead and I remember my skin getting very very hot and my stomach turning over repeatedly with every word until she said "Jehovah is a god of love and Mercy!"
She hung up the phone her body shaking, turning to me and smiling.
“Your brother and your mother will be coming home next week we have a lot to get done!”
We worked hard all week.. Cleaning and preparing and making a safe place for them to recuperate. I ask myself over and over again, When did I change? When was it that the veil that everyone in The Organization wears start to tear letting in things that made my internal warning systems fire off more often at the things that were said and done in the name of it. In writing this, and going over the memories that stuck. I think the day she came home started everything.
Once they were settled and everyone had left, my father walked to my mother and with all seriousness looked at her and said "You have one month to get back to normal, get better and start taking care of this house, No more."
Not only did he just completely insult and hurt my mother. But he began the demise of my relationship with him. It was only fuel to the fire caused by hearing my Aunts talk about why they almost died in the first place. He had his son now, Which sped me losing my place as "Daddy's Little Girl" But on a positive note, It also gave me my voice. The more I used it, The less my father sought me out. Looking back now, I know that once our personalities and our opinions started to grow, his ability to tolerate us shrank in Proportion. As children we were easier to control, mold and handle. It wasn't until years later than my opinionated spirit solidified our inability to communicate anymore.
He was a Marine.. he saw war, Unspeakable Acts and Occurrence molded him into a very stern and cold Soul.. He showed love but it was through being that MAN. Provider and Authority figure.. but once chaos set in with the growth of personality and the reasoning of a child began to give way to the Growing intellect and perception of the adult reasoning mind... He didn't have absolute control.. His look from across the room no longer stifled our Independent streaks.. he instead of resorting to reasoning as he did with a child. His anger pushed him to other things.. He was a Man who saw terrible things I Understand why his reaction to what we did as preteen and young adults seemed to Blow up way out of proportion... He was a Point A to B kinda man. Even in playing games as a family it was
"Sure lets play The Game of Life.. but the object is to get your car from start to finish first. Lets get on it!" And any deviation anything that distracted the progress of the game began to become Lack of efficiency to him. Extra Unneeded Bull shit.
It exaggerated over time from Simple screening or groundings to eventually he lashed out. Kick under the table so hard that you had a Knot on your shin for days. A total backhand or three fingers so hard into your chest that you had a bruise that reminded you. He acted before he thought. Then it began to escalate. He became violent. Once his son got to the point of Speaking his mind.. It was over.. I watched him Beat my brother so many times. A couple I actually grabbed his arm and said "Daddy that's enough" and he turned on me. One such time he Was disciplining my brother for getting warning letters. Notes from school you get From your teacher one for each class you are failing or in danger of failing. He had told him he will get seven whacks for each warning letter..
He got 4. Twenty Eight lashes. Yes I said Lashes. My dad took his belt off. Yelling at him how worthless he is, How he will never amount to anything. How he would be no good contribution to society. eventually it escalated from my brother bent over the couch to him in a corner my dad full on swinging back and forth beating him into it. I grabbed my father's arm and begged him "He understands daddy. That's enough!" I was by now 16 or 17 I think, he simply continued the fit of rage on me catching me a couple times before my brother returned the favor and grabbed him and said. " no daddy i was bad It was my fault spank me not her" the lil boy in the incubator 12 years later. and I remembered the promise i made to protect that boy because he was Special to have survived. INSPITE of the Blood issue.
I lost it, and I convinced my mother to call the elders. They came and spoke to my father who came out of the meeting with them grabbed his pillow and moved into our fifth wheel camper. Calling my mother horrible things for letting the children think he is abusing them. I sat my arms crossed watching them fight... he left and the brothers spoke to us in the kitchen . Most of the lights off.. I wonder now if it was because dark hides the truth of what is around you. Then again, it also reveals things you didn't see because the "Light" was so bright. I remember little of what the elders said, but I do remember the one question they answered for me.
"We need to do something he needs help." I insisted arms crossed at the table. To which the Elder replied
"You can go to the authorities but you will have to suffer the consequences for bringing reproach on Jehovah's Organisation" This answer is given to me again later to another question concerning me.
He moved back in and it didn't stop. for years and years. the last point my father ever did anything physically abusive to me I was about 19, I had eaten out of a Jar of salsa and left it on the table. Sitting in a chair in the living room of their 5th wheel camper. He walked in and Threw it at me hitting me square in the gut. Knocking the wind out of me and again asserting my uselessness to the world. I took a moment and got my breath as he stood there Regarding me with great disgust over it and I rose slamming the jar on the counter.
"You are absolutely right to be upset with me for leaving this out. But you have no right to physically attack me. The next Time you will be arrested, I am not a Scared little girl anymore."
The man went silent and the red began to bleed from his face to white. For the First time all my father could do was walk away. He and I have never really Spoken at any great Length again unless others were around and it appeared as it "should" to them. He, today looks at my mother in a stupefied manner when she relays the things he has done to us kids and her. Telling her her memory is bad, that he never did those things. He loves us and never would.
He is a good man, just filled with so much rage and fear, regret and sadness. He had not learned and would not try to learn how to channel it. He loves us.. I know he does. He only ever once really showed emotionally his love. Only a year or 2 later.. the same Period that showed me how skewed The Organization's view is of the "World" and how much of a myth their claim to be "no part of it" truly is.
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