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A New Day Has Come


Most people write things after they have lost somebody. I am going to write this while my mother is still living, although she will never read it. I'll tell you why later on. What happened to her should not happen to anybody.

My mother was raised back in the day where picking cotton was your main crop and outhouses were a luxury. She lost her own mother at the age of 7, so therefore her and her sister and two brothers were basically raised by relatives. Bathtubs, what was that. A very large wash tub on the back porch was it.
This back in the woods town in Texas was her home and when she finally married and moved to a large town, we enjoyed going back to the "country" for visits.
To buy store bought clothes was un-heard of or a real big treat. My mother made us all our clothes. She worked very hard and she played very hard, and although we never lacked for any necessities we did lack attention. I very rarely remember being hugged by my mother or told "I Love You". I didn't realize what an impact that would have on my own adult life. Maybe I'll tell my story some other time.
My mother did take care of us, we weren't neglected or anything like that, but she did like to slap you in the face, which I don't think any child should be slapped in the face. I was the first born and you would have thought I would have been spoiled rotten, not by her. I'd go to my aunt and uncles every chance I could, because they loved me more. My dad meant more to me than my mother did. You see this isn't the ordinary sweet things somebody usually says about their mother. Don't get me wrong. I do love my mother, I just didn't like her very much as a child or an adult. I was grown before I knew the kind of life she had been raised in. Still that should make you want to change your children's life and not carry the hatred you had as a child be passed down to your children. You should believe what your children tell you until you find out different. I was molested and so were my sisters by a family member and when we told her she didn't believe us.That hurt beyond words. But she is my mother.
I can not even begin to tell you all the fights we had, which began when I was 10, when she divorced my Dad and took us away. You would think the first grand-child would have brought some closeness. That didn't happen. My children never wanted to go to her house, much less stay there. She would argue with you about anything. If I said it was blue, she would say it was green and proving something to her was impossible. She was always right. But she is my mother.
I only asked her for something one time and when she refused, I never asked her for anything else. I made it on my own without her help.If only she had known that one day she would need my help. I didn't balk when the time came to help her, I fought long and hard for her, although she will never know it. I could have said to hell with her after all the troubled years we shared, but I didn't. She is my mother.
Going to church was not an option. You went. Why? Who knows, it sure didn't change anything at home. I got sick of hearing religion this religion that when I already found out there were so many hypocrites going to church. Don't get me wrong, I truly believe in God and Angels but I don't have to attend church every Sunday like I used to faithfully. I couldn't stand being in the same building with some of them, knowing what they did the rest of the week. I believe in miracles.
My mother had a very bad stroke and she was paralyzed on her left side.I had not spoken to her in two years when my step-father called telling me she was in very bad shape. The doctor's told me she would probably always be paralyzed and he was scheduling therapy beginning the next day. I went into her room and she could not speak or move. She looked at me for a long time and began to cry and I gave her a hug and told her it would be OK. The doctor was going to keep her in the hospital for a few days and start therapy. I stayed several hours and then told her I was going to get my daughter and would come back.I had told my daughter that her g-mother was in very bad shape. We walked into the room and she was still in the bed about like I had left her. She smiled and hugged me and then she sat up and said she was ready to go home. I couldn't believe it. I hollered for a nurse,who couldn't believe she was up and most of all walking without any sign of problems, and she was talking very clearly. I called my step-father and told him to come get her. I call that a miracle or shock from seeing me. After that we stayed in touch more and visited each other more. Things were going pretty good between us until...........and that's another long story.
I should write a novel about my family. There couldn't be another one like us,or at least I hope there isn't, we are one messed up bunch.
My mother did like to have fun when she was allowed too and she could be fun a lot of the time. She wasn't a bad person by any means she just had a hard life and a life she chose not to change. She was always critical of you and tried to tell you how you should raise your children and I told her one time, to not tell me how to raise mine when she had six and they all were messed up because of her. A cruel thing to say but the truth no less.
At least my children can talk to me and they know that I won't chastise them.I'll tell them what I think, but then it's their choice to take my advice.
I love my mom, she is my mother and the only one I'll ever have so to forgive her was my choice and a good choice, because I would have hated for her too pass on and we had not made up.
I've learned a lot as I grew up. And I hope I am still learning. I hope by writing about some of it that it may help others.
Thank you for sticking with this until the end.
The angels and me are now watching over my mother.


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