My name is Charlene . My family and friends call me Charlie. I am 25 years old. Today is my birthday. On the day I am writing this I am burying my mother. People have told me that it is tragic to bury my mother on my birthday but that is not the real tragedy. The real tragedy is that she finally fought to free herself from the monster she called husband only to die anyway. I say he got her despite leaving... Cancer was only his weapon.
I am writing this to purge the poison from my mind, my body and my spirit, so that the silence that twisted into the hammer of death against my mother cannot get me too. Then, I am going to forget, I will move on to the peace of my life and live.
I will not fear every dark place. Every man will not be my enemy.
I will be free.
My story starts on this day in 1986. My mother was out shopping for last minute baby things and her water broke.
She was delivered to the hospital by an elderly man and his granddaughter. They happened to be behind her in line and gave her the use of their cell phone to call hospital and husband.
My father was in such a panic to get to her that he couldn't think straight. He ran a stop sign and died two intersections away from his beloved wife and newly born daughter.
I did meet him though. His spirit touched mine on his way out... His kiss marking me forever. Two tiny birth marks side by side. Lips, on my shoulder.
I only have a few photos of my father. Him as a young boy, a teen, a college student. His wedding day and one holding my mother, heavy with child, his arms holding us both.
I look just like him. Thick, heavy, light blond hair. Green eyes. Golden complexion, glowing, flawless skin. I have my mothers build. Tall-5'11, large firm breasts that sit high on my chest. A small waist and rounded hips and bottom. I guess I got it all beauty, symmetry, even perfect white teeth... But not happiness.
When I was four my mother remarried. She was as beautiful as me but dark. Dark hair, eyes. Exotic looking. Her new husband was a lot like my father in looks so no one knew he was not my natural father. He was tall, blond. His build was slighter than my father.
Mom told me that Dad spent every moment he could carve outside but Dave sat at a desk all week and 'puttered around' on weekends. That's not to say we never went to the beach or out camping but Dave wasn't fond of the outdoors so we seldom went even though mother loved it.
Things were relatively peaceful at home for the first few years. Dave tried hard to win me over not really realizing that I am quiet and reserved by nature. This was not aided by the fact that my mother had kept my early years quiet and stable. Few friends, fewer visitors. I developed a very shy streak that Dave took personally.
Our lives were normal even if a bit mundane up until mom got pregnant again. Dave was not overly fond of the idea that he was going to be a father again so late in life. He started to Change. He developed a temper. He was angry and resentful all the time. Things were tense and stressful. Mom was quite frankly so happy to be having another baby that she ignored the warning signs.
Shortly after my 18 birthday my sister Andrea was born. Dave was having a card party. My mother was in the basement working on a craft project.
My new baby sister had woke up and was fussing. I was very fond of her and pleased that she looked just like me. Her eyes were brown like moms but otherwise she was my twin and I was delighted with her. Sometimes I would get up to talk to her when she fussed and she would go back to sleep, Comforted that I was close by, but this time she was not stopping. I went looking for a parent.
When I reached the kitchen it was full of strange men. They were all looking at me. I didn't realize we had company so I was in my baby doll pajamas. I guess Dave could see I was freaked out cause he looked up at me and said 'hey kiddo... Can't sleep'? I shook my head no as I backed out of the room. "Baby is awake and needs one of you." I turned and got out of there. I heard Dave swear and yell real loud for my mother to get the baby.
My mother came running and a big fight ensued. They were yelling at each other so Dave's buddies left. That made Dave real mad. Mom was yelling that she didn't care. I remember thinking as I picked my sister up to comfort her that the two of them were more worried about fighting than the baby. What kind of parenting is that?
The two of them escalated until it was a real fight. That was the first night Dave hit my mother. He was very drunk. Mom cried herself to sleep. She had the baby with her and told Dave to sleep on the couch. I was very worried and couldn't sleep.
