Today’s blog is on a podcast What You Don't Know (Lulu Wang). It was about how little girl named Lulu Wang had to lie to her grandmother. I was ask Did I agree with the family's choice to deceive Wang's grandmother. In responses, I will also tell you about a time I had to lie. I do agree with the decision that Lulu’s family made. It had to weigh heavy on their hearts, to know when someone would die. I could not even imagine knowing when I was going die or knowing when someone else was going to die. But if I did know when someone time was about to be up and they were much older, I would do the same thing her family did. At that level of a severe disease like cancer can cause enough stress and pain on its own. Why put more on top of it. I would have given that person the last best day of their life. So I could remember their smile, smell, encouraging words and how they felt when I held them. So when they were put to rest, they would rest in peace. When some people are giving the news their life is being cut short, they die right there. They become more stress because of family, unfinished business and death itself. The family would start to mourn and talk as if they're already dead, well my family anyway. Their unfinished business like bills and arrangements they needed to make would cause unnecessary stress. The time that they were giving would turn it a time clock, tick-tock. I feel that know it would cause death to come sooner and or unnecessary tension on the health. The mind is a very powerful thing, and if you believe it, it will happen. What I mean by that is, I remember I was at a restaurant. I usually order my food and then wash my hands. I believed that menus are cover the walking germs. So, I would never dig into food after touching the menu. But, this day I did, and it hit me after I eat all my food. It was on my mind all night into the morning then I became sick. After I vomit, I felt better, but nothing was wrong with me. I had siked myself out; I believed grams was crawling in my body. I laugh about it now, but I always make sure I wash after touching a menu. My boyfriend thinks I am crazy and I do not care.
I was young, and I had to tell a lie. At a young age, I had to see my mother being a drug user and getting abused by my younger sister's father. Mom tried to keep her addiction and the abuse undercover, but I knew. When she was high, she would act differently. Bruises would appear the next day, but she could not see them. I caught onto her patterns fast; I even play along as if everything was normal. My brothers never showed any concern for my mom’s behavior and appearance. At one point I thought I was crazy, it was until I had gotten a little older I started to connect all the dots. I was awakened out my sleep by a loud noise. “PLEASE CRATE!!!!’, my mom cried out screaming at my little sister’s dad. Oh yes, his name was Crate! I jumped up ran into the hallway, but the cry sounded far away. My mom screams again, “ NO, CRATE DON’T DO THIS!”. They were down the stair; her voice carried from underneath my feet. I look back into the room to see if my brother had woken so they could walk me downstairs. They were dead sleep; I ran downstairs scared out my mind. I open the door to the first floor of my house, only to see my mom getting pushed in the face repeatedly. Her left eye was turning bloodshot red, and cheek was starting to swell. Crate was yelling, “ WHERE IS MY SHIT BITCH!". He was so far gone, he did not see me open the door, but my mom did. I started to cry like a cartoon character, when the tears are spraying out of their eyes. My mom looked at me with her bloody face and said, “ Baby, go upstairs.” I ran back us stairs to try to wake up my older brother, but he was a dummy. He told me to leave him alone, “ No! Marky, Crate is hitting mommy!”, I said. He went back to sleep, I had no choice but to call the police. “911, what your emergency?’. “ I need help my mom is getting hit on by her boyfriend come fast, and he’s going to kill her.”, I told the police dispatch. By the time I got back downstairs, he had through my mom to the floor. He had found a bed rail and was trying to push it through my mom's chest. My mom was lying flat on the floor pulling one end of the rail up from her chest, while he was trying to push it down. The police were not coming fast enough, and I had no choice but to intervene. I jump in between my mom's arms laying on her chest and help her push the rail away. I also screamed “ IN JESUS NAME, SATAN I REBUKE YOU. JESUS, JESUS, JESUS, I REBUKE SATAN!”. He drops that pole so fast; I thought the devil was in him. He started to paste as I consoled my mom. Then the police finally showed up. Knock, knock, knock! They banged on the door. A male officer yelled, “ Did anyone call the police?”. My mom looks at me with her bloody face, swollen cheek, and lips, as I was getting up to rush to the door. She grabs my arm and pull herself up and said in a soft, tired voice, “ No, keetta, don’t open the door.” The police knocked and said again, “ Did anyone call for help.” My mom begged me to say no. “say, no keetta. He didn’t mean it”. He still pasting, wait for my response. I hate him; I hate him, I hate him!. I scream inside of my head, so the police would not hear me. My mom said the cops would take us if I let them in, referring to my siblings and me. With my child mind, I thought, why they choose us and he’s the devil. I know why she said that now because they were high and under the influence. I loved my mom, and I’m very spiritual. I believe in honoring your mother, father and your days will be long upon the earth. So at the end of the day, I had listened because I was always scared of cutting my life short. So, I never open the door, and I told the police he held left. I regretted that day, and my mom continued to get high and take the abuse from Crate. It got worse, and I had to pretend life was peaches and cream around family and mom friends. I wanted Crate locked up, or better yet I wished some big man to come and beat him down. When people made comments, and about Crate being a good dad to us I use just to cut my eyes with hate. I started to ask my siblings if they hated Crate is much as I did, they always said no. They never saw what I saw, and they were too lazy to get in the night when loud rumbling and sound of things falling was happening. I had to save her life every time. Deep down I think everyone knew, but they did not want to get involved. She kept running back to him anyway. I never told anyone. Eventually, Crate fell down his mom step one day, suffer a severe blow to the head and was never able to recover. My mom moves on to the next knucklehead, after me and my siblings placed in foster care. I know now, everything happens for a reason and you can not help people who are not ready to be helped.
8 Comments
|
AUTHOR:
|