…and the saga continues

If you have read my blog for any length of time, you know the story of Little J. For those that aren’t familiar, Little J is my partners niece. She came to live with us back in 2009 because child protective services had to intervene due to some problems her mother was having. She was in our care for about 11 months before she was returned home to her mom in early 2010. We had become accustomed to her being with us for that 11 month period, and it was extremely hard to see her leave. We of course had no choice and Little J was sent back home to her mom. About 7 months later, Little J’s mother called asking if we would be willing to take her again and put her in preschool (read She’s Back) We of course took her back and the cycle started again. Little J was with us for about 4 months before her mom and her “recently released from prison”daddy decided to abruptly take her back. I was furious about the situation and my partner was both furious and hurt by it…being that this is her sister that she is dealing with. It was an all out emotional roller coaster ride. After this last fiasco with Little J and her mom, I told my partner that all this back and forth with this child was ridiculous and when/if her sister asks for her help again, she needs to say hell no. You can’t play with people’s lives, their money and emotions when its convenient for you and that’s exactly what her sister was doing. From that point up until around July, we never saw Little J. We knew she was ok because other family members would inform my partner of how the kids were doing.

Skip up to August 2011. Little J is now 4 years old and child protective services is once again involved and Little J has again been removed from her mom’s custody and guess what: she is back with us.  I am glad that she is back, but I hate that she has to go through all of the foolishness that her mom and dad have put her through. As of today, she has been back almost 2 months. Despite the drama, she is happy and healthy and speaks about 1,000 words a minute on just about any subject you can imagine! She’s back in preschool, she takes dance and gymnastic classes and rides her bike as much as she can convince someone to take her out to ride.

So here we go again….

pray for us

…and pray for Little J.

Journey to Me: Entry #14

Entry #14 (click here to read entry #13)

My aunt and I had an indifferent relationship the entire time I lived with her. She never mistreated me, but she also never treated me like a mother or a good stand in mother should. I always felt like I was the outsider in that home, so I stayed away as much as possible. I started high school a year after my mother died. Every person in my family went to one particular school, so of course that’s where I went. My 9th grade year was full of ups and downs. I became lax in school, skipping classes and messing around with boys. I was a smart ass to the teachers and basically did what the hell I wanted to do when it came to school. As my 9th grade year drew to a close (I passed with flying colors by the way…weak curriculum) Precious had a long talk with me about preparing for my future and what not. She didn’t tell me what I needed to do, but she gave me a lot to think about. Over the summer of 1988, I realized that I needed and wanted more for myself. I refused to be like those around me, so I needed to remove myself from the environment. I decided that I wanted to go to a better school…as school with an advanced curriculum. So I located a school, took the entrance exam and got in. My aunt was totally against this: “the school is too far”, how are you gonna get there? Why can’t you just stay where you are? I don’t know if this is a good idea…”did Precious tell you to do this? Just a whole host of negative shit…anything to get me to stay put. After months of talking and convincing, she finally agreed to the transfer. Thank God. Finally school was good. I was good. Grades were good. Perfect.

Then I got a job.

When I was 16 I got my first job at a local grocery store. The store was across town in an affluent neighborhood…a neighborhood that I had learned about years before through my god-mother Precious. I was excited about the job because it gave me a chance to spread my wings and learn about things I wouldn’t have otherwise been exposed to. I would go to school from 8-11:30 and catch the bus to my new found job. In the evening around 5:30pm, Precious would come by and pick me up from work so that I wouldn’t have to ride the bus home in the dark. My aunt was not happy about this arrangement. She would pitch a fit about me having a job so far away from home and she knew Precious was the reason I wanted to go and work around all those “white folks”. The environment was volatile, but I refused to quit my job because she of her bullying. Eventually she just went with it because I wasn’t gonna give in to all of her foolishness.

About two years passed and my aunt was diagnosed with end stage breast cancer. I was 18 at the time and was in the process of starting college and moving out of her house and into my grandmother’s house. I saw my aunt dwindle down to about 120 pounds, lose all of her hair and virtually slump over from the tumors in her breast. I heard her scream out of pain throughout the night. It was a terrible thing to witness, but I had so much hurt in my heart for her that I could not stay there…I frankly didn’t care that she was suffering like she was and I moved anyway. Leaving her sons and my brother to care for her. A year earlier, she and her husband got divorced-so she was basically all alone. Not to mention that two of her brothers died a few years before…our family was down to only a few people at this time; everyone was dying and I was totally aloof to all of it. I really didn’t care. I wanted my life to be totally separate from the crap I had seen and experienced at this house…in that family.

So I moved, and never looked back.

Journey to Me: Entry #13

Entry #13 (click here to read entry #12)

To escape the madness of my life, I went to church as much as I could with my god-mother, who I will call Precious. I spent countless hours learning the Bible, doing stuff around the church…just whatever I could do to prevent me from being in that house. My god-mother was my savior. She and I initially became acquainted at church…she was my Sunday school teacher and for some reason, she and I because very close. The more I got to know her, the more I loved her. I loved her with all my heart…more than any other grown up in my life at the time. Precious was different than anyone I had ever known. She worked a great job. She and her husband owned a home. She had nice things…very nice things. She didn’t have kids of her own, so she took me as her daughter. She did everything for me…it was as if she was put on this earth to mold me into the person that I was to become. She exposed me to things that I would not have otherwise known about. She would go out of her way to make sure that I had what I needed and even the things that I wanted. She taught me to be a lady and what a real woman did. She read to me. She cooked for me. She cried with me. She prayed with me. She knew everything about me and didn’t judge me. She showed me that despite the hand I had been dealt, I could live and happy and healthy life but it was all up to me to do so. This woman became my mother…my second mother.

My aunt of course despised the relationship I had with my Precious. She would do her best to prevent me from spending time with her. She said that Precious was trying to make me her child, because she didn’t have any of her own. She hated the fact that this lady was giving me more than my own blood relatives gave me. Funny thing is that I told my Precious how my aunt bashed her, but when she saw her face to face, she was smiling and laughing like nothing was wrong. Precious would always say that she wasn’t worried about it, but that she would just pray for my aunt. I was always moved by her humility. This woman made the biggest impression on me, so much so that I begin to model my life after hers. My aunt did not like this and made life hard for me because I choose to elevate myself above what she was offering. This was the beginning of a long hard road with my aunt.

Aquarius.Soul © 2011

Journey to Me: Entry #11

Entry #11 (Click here to read Entry #10)

The day that my mom died was the day that my life changed forever. I was 15 years old with no clue as to what would happen to me or my brother. All I could hear was the adults around me, making plans to bury my mother. I would look across the room and see my little brother with swollen eyes and confusion on his face. I remember calling my dad the night mom died to let him know what had happened and before I could get the words out, he told me he was on his way over…it was after 3am and he seemed to arrive at our home within minutes. My father cried like a baby in front of us all. I never knew how much he loved my mother until this day. My dad changed that day and so did I.

I heard talk of what to do with my brother and I. Who should take us? Should they separate us? What did my mother want for us? My aunt, the one with the horrible sons spoke up saying: “Trisha did not want these kids separated so we are not gonna separate them.” This was the last I heard of the custody of my brother and I until after my mother’s funeral. Days passed and I grieved in my heart for my mother, but I had this unusual peace about the whole thing. Even though I was only 15, I understood that my mother was gone because it was her time and I also understood that God was comforting me and preparing me for a greater task. That’s a lot of a 15 year old kid to truly understand…but somehow, somewhere this had been planted into my being. My tears dried up although I still wept for my mother…it was a different kind of weeping. I loved her. I would miss her but God was going to provide for me…I believed this with my whole heart.

The day of the funeral was one of great sadness. My mothers mom sat in her room and wailed like her soul had been snatched from her. You see, at this point, my mother was the first to die in our family. It was difficult for all of her brothers and sisters to deal with. I recall sitting in my grandmothers living room, watching everyone hurry themselves and prepare for the funeral that day. The loneliness that I felt was overwhelming and stifling. My little brother sat so close to me that day that I could barely move. I felt the burden of responsibility weighing down on my back…but even still, there was this calm that pushed its way forward in my spirit. I know it was God. I knew he was gonna look out for me and help me make it through that day.

We arrive and the church and its packed. I still cant believe that that’s my mother laying in that casket. Many people got up and said wonderful things about my mom. It was a beautiful service, but all I wanted was for it all to be over. Finally the services ended and we begin to file out of the church as is customary in the black church. The funeral directors lead the processional with the pall bearers carrying the casket behind them. The family then files out behind the pall-bearers while “I’ll Fly Away” is being sung by the choir. I remember losing all strength in my legs as we were walking out…if my aunt had not caught me, I would have hit the floor. We finally get into the limo and being our journey to the cemetery. The entire ride, all I remember thinking was why this was happening to me…I am 15 years old…I need my mom…Why did my mom have to die and leave us here like this. Tears streamed down my face for the entire ride. My aunts held me and my brother in their arms until we made it to our destination.

I hate cemeteries; I always have, but that day was different. My mom was gonna be living here. This is her final resting place. As we embarked on her burial location, my dad walked with my brother and I holding our hands. He stood by us the entire time of the graveside service. This was the first time that I felt like he really loved me…like he was really my father.

The three of us watched as my mothers casket was lowered into the ground…ashes to ashes, dust to dust. I cried, my father cried, my brother cried. Goodbye mama.

Aquarius.Soul © 2010

Journey to Me: Entry #10

Entry #10 (Click here to read Entry #9)

My mom died February 18, 1988…she was 38 years old. I was 15 years old when my mother passed away. It had been exactly 2 weeks since my 15^th birthday when she died. Devastated. Heartbroken. Lost, Confused. Depressed…these were all the emotions that I was constantly experiencing when I lost my mom. It seemed so sudden. A week earlier we were home doing what we normally do and mom got sick…she couldn’t breath & she was having chest pains. She called to tell my aunt that lived in the same apartment complex as we did & she rushed over. Within the hour, the paramedics were in our apartment loading mom onto the stretcher and wheeling her off. On her way of the door, she told my brother and me to be good and that she would be home soon. By this time my cousin who normally came to take care of us when mom went to the hospital had made it to our house…we were so accustomed to mom being in and out of the hospital that this occasion was no different….we said our good byes to our mother and carried on with our youthful activities.

Three days had passed since my mother was admitted into the hospital. She called everyday to check on us as she always did…but on day 4 her call and tone were different than normal. As she and I were talking, she told me to always be a good girl and that she knew that I would grow up to be a decent young lady…she went on to say that I should always look out for my brother no matter what and that she knew that she could depend on me and most importantly of all she loved me more than I could ever know. Being a 15 year old kid, it didn’t register in my mind that she knew that she wasn’t coming home anymore. I just said yes maam to her requests and never thought twice about it. 12 hours later at about 3am, there came a knock at the front door.

It was my mom’s older sister and her brother…her face was swollen and her eyes were red. She walked over to my bed and told me that my mama wouldn’t be coming home…she said “baby…your mama has died. The devastation and heartbrokenness griped me like a pair of needle-nose pliers. I remember crying out in this loud voice of despair…my aunt grabbed me and hugged for what seemed to be forever.

My brother was 7 years old when mama died….they were closer than close. When my aunt told my brother it hurt him to his core. He was 8, but he was ahead of his time. He understood exactly what my aunt was telling him & he wailed in despair. He slid out of my aunt’s lap and ran to my mother’s bedroom and into her closet….he pulled down all of her clothes and lay on top of them crying his little heart out.

February 18, 1988 was by far the worst day of my life.

Aquarius.Soul © 2010

Journey to Me: Entry #8

Entry #8 (Click here to read Entry #7)

After a few years, my mother became ill. Nothing major, just a bit of this and a bit of that and she managed her illness well. My mom had always been heavy, but after she got sick, she really started to balloon up and this was another reason for me to be ashamed of her. What kid wants to have a big fat mother? I mean, who wants to be teased by their school friends when their mom comes to the school and she is a fat?

We ended up moving from the projects after about 2 years of major struggle. We didn’t move into a single family home, but into an apartment. This apartment was ok, better than the projects, but only a few steps from being a project. The best thing about all of this was that I got to have my own room again. As a young girl, privacy was of the utmost. This was my retreat from my little world. I had my own TV, a phone extension and most of all a small love seat in my room. I was big shit by 1987 standards. Things there were cool. I went to another middle school and actually got more enthused about school. My mom laid off of dudes…the only man I saw around our house was my daddy and his presence was not felt that often. Right about the same time we moved to these apartments, my mother baby sister got divorced from her husband and she and her two boys ended up moving to the same complex that we lived in. They would spend a lot of time at each others apartments, but it seemed that my aunt and her bad ass boys spent more time at our house fucking it up really. Well, let me be clear: my aunt was a loud, dirty talking woman and her boys; especially that oldest son of hers was just bad and unruly. In those days, cleaning up your house on a Saturday morning was an event. My mom would wake me every Saturday around 8am; we would have breakfast and after that we would commence to cleaning: make the beds, sweep the floors, clean the kitchen (including cleaning out the fridge), clean the bathroom, change the sheets on every bed in the house, clean the window sills, clean the baseboards that run all around the house and worst of all we had to sweep the carpets cause having a vacuum was luxury that most black folks didn’t have back then. Needless to say, cleaning up on Saturday was hard work and you didn’t want anybody to come and mess up what you had cleaned up. Now back to my cousins…those jokers would come over with their mom and fuck up the house like it was nobody’s business and the killer part is that my mom would never say anything about it. I don’t think it was because she didn’t care…it was because she felt sorry for my aunt. Nevertheless, my ass would have a lot to say about it and my mouth got me in trouble. I hated my cousins and I didn’t like my aunt to much either cause she didn’t control her damn kids…but what could I do as a kid. All I could do was retreat to my room at least I didn’t have to entertain those ugly boys in there.

This time in my life marked an age of exploration for me. This is the year were I let a boy do more than kiss me. No I did not have sex with a boy…lets just say he touched me below my waist. What the hell: they called it finger fucking back then. So yes, I got finger fucked on several occasions by this dude who we will call Oscar. He was cute and he liked me and I let him talk me into doing it. The whole act seemed a little stupid but what the hell…all my friends were doing it. My rape always loomed in the back of my mind, but at this point I just wanted to be normal…but my normalcy didn’t include having sex…being raped kept me from going there with the lil boys I played with during that time. I also played with girls during that time too. Well let’s be more specific. I have a female cousin who is a few years older than I am. She and I were really close growing up. We would spend the night with each other all the time and just watch television and play games or whatever. Then one day in particular, she asked me what I thought girls kissing. My reply was yuck! Girls aren’t supposed to kiss each other. So her response was why not. She then tells me that she saw girls kissing each other in a movie and it was no big deal. She even said that they were kissing each other on their chests. So I’m like “really” well if it was in the movies, I guess its ok. To make a long story short…my cousin and I kissed each other on the mouth and on the chest (which really means on the breasts) and after it was over, I didn’t feel repulsed like I thought I would. No big deal…I went on about my life.

Aquarius.Soul ©2009

Journey to Me: Entry #7

Entry #7 (Click here to read Entry #6)

After my mom and Willie ended their relationship, we began to struggle financially again. We ended up moving into government housing and receiving government assistance. Our lives virtually changed overnight. My dad was a total deadbeat and never really helped my mother in raising us…at least not in the ways he should have. Every weekend, my mom would have friends over and they would play cards, drink and listen to music late into the night. While this was going on, my brother and I were banished to the back bedroom. Most of the time I would end up in the front of the house with the adults and because they had been drinking, they wouldn’t make me leave. So I was able to see what they were up to. Back in those days…well at least in my house, the most the adults would do is drink and smoke weed and at times I saw this stuff with my own eyes. Fortunately, it didn’t influence me to go out and try drugs in any way. I think this was because my mother was very open and honest with me about everything, including drugs.

Although I wasn’t influenced by the things that happened in my house, my overall environment wasn’t the best by today’s standards. Despite all the fun it looked like my mom was having; there were still the abrupt changes that we experienced. Having to go from living in a house to living in a government apartment was major; in addition to all of the other things we had to give up. All of these negative changes affected my attitude towards EVERYTHING. I stopped enjoying school and started missing a lot of days, which caused me to be left behind that year. I befriended the worst kids. I experimented with smoking and sex…all of this by the age of 14. While dealing with all of this, the thoughts of my rape still loomed in the back of mind; causing me to be shy and somewhat of a recluse.

We lived in these government apartments for about 2 years and my mother continued to struggle to provide for my brother and I. There were times when our lights would get disconnected or the gas would get cut off. I saw my mother put her pride aside and go to places to seek assistance in paying her bills. There were also times where she would go to food banks and get free groceries for our household. I saw her struggle to make sure we were taken care of. My dad was a sucker and didn’t do jack shit to really help her. $50 here and there was all he did during those days. My grandmother (dad’s mom) always bought my brother and I clothes and shoes…so were never without. As an adult, I applaud my mother because I know she did her best with what she had…but as a 14 year old girl, I hated her and I hated the situation that I thought she put us in. Our relationship was strained and difficult… I talked back to her and she whipped my ass…but I did it anyway. I was stubborn and prideful…and I did everything that I thought I could do to hurt my mothers feelings because after all…the situation we were in was all her fault right?

Aquarius.Soul ©2009

Beginning Again

If you have followed my blog for the last year or so, you are familiar with the Journey to Me series that I started when I was on blogger. For the new readers,  Journey to Me was sort of an autobiographical piece that I began sharing with the blogosphere in hopes of helping others who had been in similar situations and it was also therapeutic for me, in that I had never shared of lot of the things with anyone. I stopped writing Journey to Me because it was emotionally draining and I needed a time out. It takes a lot to go back into your past and pull things out that you hadn’t really dealt with…so basically I took a break. I have decided to start the series again within the next week. What I will do is re-post the first 10 entries for those who are new to my blog. After they are all re-posted, I will start fresh with entry #11. Although this is my personal life, I welcome and encourage comments on what you read. Thanks for beginning the journey with me again.