This is a series about abuse. I have debated with myself about whether I will write any personal stories or details in this series. I’ve decided that I have to do so to keep the writing authentic. So, here goes.
I remember having a lot of fun with my dad when I was growing up. I remember him pushing me on the swings. I remember him dancing with me in his arms when I was so young I could barely walk.
I remember the fights. He would drink too much and the fights would begin. He would start yelling at everyone and cursing at my mother. And he would keep drinking even after he had had too much. I remember wanting to go help my mom because I could hear him hit her and I could hear her cry during the night when we were all supposed to be sleeping. In the morning I would wait for him to go to work and then run into my mom’s bedroom. I remember how her face looked. Her beautiful green eyes sad and filled with tears, swollen and purple. I remember that although her eyes cried, she would smile at us and say she was okay. No, it didn’t hurt. She was okay. But I knew different. I could tell when she tried to move that she was in pain. I could tell that there were probably bruises that we couldn’t see because she could hardly move without wincing in pain.
He hit our mom. He made her cry. He caused bruises. Bruises on my mom. Bruises left on our minds that colored our world.
Then, he would hit us. My mom would try to get between him and us and she would be hit and thrown out of the way so he could keep hitting us. We were little. My oldest brother was only about eight or nine at the time, yet he got punched as if he were a grown man.
There were many drunk days and nights. I remember that every year on my birthday (my birthday is on Christmas) he would get drunk and ruin the day. Sometimes it would be by passing out and other times by ruining our dinner like the time he was angry because it was taking too long to get everything on the dinner table so he pulled the tablecloth and with it all the food. And I remember one year when he was so drunk one Christmas that he went into the bathroom to wash up for lunch and ended up passing out and falling into the bathtub which was still filled with water from my youngest sister’s bath. My brothers had to help my mom get him out of the tub and into bed. That turned out to be a good Christmas because he slept for the rest of the day and the rest of us had a good day. Still, I wished that it hadn’t happened because I always believed that he would be able to share one Christmas, one birthday, without getting drunk or abusive.
I remember. I’m sixty years old now and I still remember. I have never been able to forget it. I remember.
My 2016 A to Z Challenge Posts
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Dearest Corina, my heart goes out to you with lots of light, warmth and love. I am so sorry to hear that this happened to you and your family. I do hope that having shared it here now will help you lift some of the weight of your chest, leave the trauma in your past.
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Thank you, Solveig. I am at the point in my life where I feel that time is short and the stories have to come out or I will take them to my grave and that should not be the case when there are so many out there that might benefit from hearing some of this. If just one person can escape abuse because of something they read hear, it wil have been worth it.
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Hi Corina,
What a long legacy of pain a selfish drunk can leave. I’m putting my virtual arms around you, dear lady. I also have an abusive drunk in my past, and it’s hard not to focus on my anger at him–but he’s dead, so what’s the point? We’re still here, enjoying life, and the abusers can’t hurt us any more. I admire your strength.
@RhondaGilmour from
Late Blooming Rose
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I am past hating him. I miss him. I did love him. He died almost a year ago and he suffered a lot. I wish he had been spared the suffering. Yeah, he put us all through so much but he also went through a lot. Not an excuse for him, just an explanation. I do miss him.
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Corina – I’m *liking* this only in sympathy and understanding. No one should have to carry those memories through their life. It’s not right and it’s not fair and I’m so very sorry for you.
I hope that writing about it helps you to release some of the pain from those years.
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I hope that at least one person will read this and benefit from it. That would be the pay off.
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Wow, I feel for you! I think it’s good for you to get this all out. 60 years later, the pain can still be as real as yesterday.
I hope your rmom was able to escape the abuse?
I’m visiting from the A to Z Challenge.
Shelly @ http://hangryfork.com
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I think my mom has gotten past it, like I have. The memories are still there and they still hurt but we don’t hate because of it. We have come to terms with it. It is what it is.
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[…] « Dad — #AtoZChallenge […]
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Thank you for sharing this. I know it was hard to open up that box. I have one very similar to yours hidden.
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This is hard to read, Corina, but in a beautiful way.
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It is always difficult to tell the personal stories, but I commend you for being brave enough to do so, Corina. Your story reminds me of the abuse my mother suffered from her dad.
Many Blessings,
Lori
My A2Zs @ As the Fates Would Have It & Promptly Written
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Powerful post. Thank you for writing it. I have my own issues with my own father, I still am unable to write about him at the moment.
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You are incredibly brave for sharing your story. There are many of us who aren’t comfortable speaking so publically. Love and blessings to you for putting this out there.
~Katie
TheCyborgMom
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