Paper Slippers

As a young child, I never really had my little friends, the few I had, over to visit my house.  Because Mom was weird. . .

She would leave the house dusty and dirty, so Dad was the one who cleaned.  But, there were things she didn't want cleaned, and if my Father cleaned them by mistake, there was hell to pay!

There was the time when Dad decided to wash the windows and mop the floors, before he went food shopping.  He'd brought home a whole cart full of food.  But, my Mom was home when he got back, and guess what?  The entire cart of food went into the trash!

You see, Mom had a phobia about cleaning the house, then going to buy food, and cooking afterwards.  You had to shop for food first, then clean.  I think.  I never knew, the formula seemed to change with the wind.

All I could remember was a tremendous argument, a fight and then good-bye food!  We all ate bread and and drank water for the rest of the week until Dad got paid again.

I may have thought  Mom was crazy, but, I wouldn't dear voice my opinion.  Why?  I would get "six of the best", one right upside the head, that's why!  Mom had a short fuse, and a nuclear explosion for anger.  At that young and tender age I knew better that to set her off. . . .

What was wrong?  I didn't know.  I didn't know why Mom always complained about people following her, about folks "spying on her", about certain individuals pouring, throwing and spraying things down on her, etc.  I often wondered how come I didn't see this stuff happening.  After all, I was usually right next to her or a few feet way.  All of her problems seemed to either be invisible or visible only to her. . . . .

It even got to the point that when ever Mom took me to the clinic, and that was often because I was a sickly child, she would always make up fake names and a fake address for us.  She would claim that she didn't want "the spies" to find out where we lived.  "What spies?"  I would ask, and I would  either get no logical answer, or one "upside the head"..

Also, we could not, and did not have a phone installed in our apartment until I was about 18 years old.  Why?  Because  Mom thought the phone was some kind of government spying device, and thus did not want it in her apartment!  I wonder what her reaction would be today if she knew it actually is being used as such?  But, that is "another" story.

I cannot recall exactly what age, but it may have been either eight or nine years old,  Mom came  home to me with bad news.  She'd had a physical exam and the the doctor had discovered she'd had fibroids.  Back in the late 1960's, the way the medical community dealt with this condition was to remove the entire uterus, a total hysterectomy.  So. that's what they did to Mom.

I remembered being scared to death, because there was a real possibility that she could die.  Weird or not, I still loved my mother.  She survived, and came home, back to a normal, well, sort of normal life. I don't remember how long it took Mom to deteriorate and fracture, but fracture she did.  Into many pieces.

Back then I didn't know, and I suspect the medical community wasn't all that aware of the fact that a woman's uterus supplies estrogen and progesterone, essential female hormones, which helps to maintain a healthy well being and state of mind.

Depleting a woman of these hormones without a replacements or supplements can cause a healthy woman to become suicidal, paranoid, and a whole host of emotional and psychological problems.  But, at the time, this was not understood.  So, my Mom was sent on her way.  Good day Mrs. M, nice knowing you.  Sorry you don't have a uterus anymore.  Go home and deal with it.

She did not deal with it very well.  Warning signals started one Winter day when Mom ran away from home.  Imagine, a grown woman running way from home!  It had to be at least ten degrees below zero, and Mom had run out of the house with only her underwear on!  My Dad knew something was drastically wrong then, and took me with him to the nearest police precinct to swear out a missing persons report.

Again, I'm talking the late 60's, and I distinctly recalled the cop at the desk telling my Dad that they, the police, couldn't do anything until at least 72 hours had passed ( NOTE:  Since then the law has changed, and a person in Mom's condition must be tracked down immediately because anything can happen to them )! 

Even though I was just a child, that just didn't sound right to me.  After all, MY MOM was out there in ten below weather, running around with hardly any clothing on!  Then again, what did an approximately 10 year old child know about the law?

We were left with no choice but to go back home to await her return.  As I mentioned before, my time sense is very distorted, therefore I don't exactly remember when she came back.  Or why she came back.  Perhaps the cold drove her back home.  But, I do remember Dad going to a neighbor's apartment to borrow their phone, calling the police and having an ambulance take her to "the hospital".

I didn't realize it then, but that was the the very first time Dad had to have Mom admitted to a well known, New York City hospital, which specialized in psychological problems.  Unfortunately, it would not be the last.

Mom spent about 6 months or so in the hospital.  When she came home, I stayed clear of her because she had become a stranger.  I didn't know it then, but she was on medication, and what ever it was, it made her strange and mean.

Mom was mean to begin with.  She wasn't afraid to"cuff me" in public, and she would give both me and my Dad tongue lashings that would strip the paint off the aircraft carrier Enterprise!  But, whatever the hospital gave her made her even meaner.

Perhaps she had relapsed, but the next thing I knew, Mom was living in a hallway closet and eating frozen tv dinners. 

Okay, you say.  Living in a closet "is" strange, but not eating frozen TV dinners.  Everybody eats frozen TV dinners.  Yes, they do, but not while they are "sill frozen"! She would only let me bring her food, she'd started thinking Dad was going to poison her  I just started warming the TV dinners up a little before I gave them to her, until I gradually got her to eat hot food again.

Living in my apartment became so weird that I wanted nothing to do with Mom.  There was the time when I'd packed up a few of my worldly possessions and I tried to run away. 

I went to a friend's house, and asked her mother if I could stay with them.  Her mother took one look at me and called my neighbor  who in turn informed my Mom.  Even though my Mom was in such a "distressed condition" she managed to make herself presentable, and she came and got me!  That was my first and last time running way.

Don't get me wrong.  I loved Mom, but because she suffered from multiple emotional illnesses she was unable to properly care for herself.  She smelled because she refused to bathe, she screamed like a banshee all day, and her behavior was bizarre beyond measure.  Of course my poor nerves were shot.

I dreaded when she called my name, often to assist her in doing something  strange, bizarre or illogical, to the point where I wanted to run screaming and smash through the wall, like a Looney Tune character!  I'm quite sure Dad felt the same, even though he never expressed it to me.  It was no wonder no one called the cops on us!

What did one do with a loved one in this condition?  There was not much of a support system back then, other than to put her back into the hospital.

One night Dad got so sick of Mom living in the closet that he dragged her out and put her in the bedroom.  The next morning we looked  in on her and discovered two things.  All of her formally long, jet black, hair had turned white, and she had taken a scissors to it, so what remained stood out in chick-like tufts.

Just imagine experiencing something so terrifying that all of your hair turns white!  I've heard of this occurrence, but to see it happen to a beloved family member was very disturbing.  Now, that I look back at this, I had to have been in shock.  There was no other way I could've remained in my right mind after witnessing this.

Again, Dad was forced to borrow a neighbor's phone and call the ambulance, and have Mom taken to the hospital.  This time I made the egregious error of begging my Dad to take me to see her.  Dad took me because I wouldn't let up with the begging.

All I can remember from that fated visit, was the fact that I saw this woman huddled and cowering in the corner of the ward like a frightened animal.  I also saw she was sporting a bald head.  Obviously, the hospital staff had shaved her head.  For me, one and one did not add up to two.  If it didn't look like Mom, it wasn't her.

Dad and I argued because I kept insisting "that was not my mother" and he kept insisting it was.  I just refused to believe that woman was Mom.  That my once beautiful and vibrant Mom had been reduced to this.

Right then, Dad decided it wasn't good for me to see her like that anymore.  Honestly, even though I loved her, I didn't want to see her in that condition either.

As Mom went through a series of breakdowns and hospitalizations, Dad and I got closer.  While I was growing up, Mom thought it was her sole duty to see to my care, not  Dad.

I was always "Her Daughter", like her shoes, her coat, her chair.  Like a piece of property.  I was "her possession", and Dad had best leave me to her, or else!  I had no way of knowing it then, but this was an indication that  Mom was also a control freak.

Dad was cut out of everything that had to do with me.  It was as if in Mom's mind, he existed on an immaterial realm like a ghost.  He only showed up when Mom called and needed him.

Dad couldn't even spank me.  I preferred his one tap on the tush, to Mom wailing away on me with a belt, shoe, or wire hanger any day!  The one time he did spank me, there was a mini World War when she found out!

As I mentioned before, I'm surprised the neighbors didn't call the cops on us!  Now, that I look back at it, my family was a poster family for Domestic Violence and Child Abuse.

Back to the World War. . .  Mom was always the initiator of these battles, and my Dad was always the gentleman.  He never raised a hand to her, thus he was always the recipient of injuries; bites, scratches, welts, and bruises.  Mom would walk away unscathed.  This too, was possibly the result of Mom's emotional instability.

Since, Mom was too sick and was no longer able to fulfill her so-called responsibilities, that meant I was sadly lacking in many things 10-12 year old children already knew.  So, Dad had to step in.

I loved it because I got to go places and do things I've never done before.  It was if I had been let out of a cage!  Dad took me to the laundromat and taught me how to wash, dry and fold my clothing.  He took me to the supermarket and taught me how to shop and pack the food in the shopping cart.  He taught me how to clean the house, and even taught me how to cook a little, even though my Dad was not a very good cook.

He even taught me how to get around New York York City on mass transit.  He also took me to various points of interest.  Things I never learned or did while I was growing up because Mom was too sick to do it.

Somewhere along the line, Mom wanted me to have a proper Catholic upbringing.  So, she sent me to the neighborhood Episcopal Church, where I took catechism classes every Saturday.  When I passed them, I was officially "confirmed" and was thus allowed to take communion.  That's when Dad started taking me to church every Sunday for Sunday School and Sunday Morning Mass.

Although I loved church, I especially loved what came afterwards.  If the weather was nice, my father and I went for a long walk in the  two and half mile neighborhood park.  Then we would stop off at a neighborhood  "soda shop"  for burgers, fries, and egg creams.  The egg creams  were for him, I had a milkshake or a fountain soda, I thought egg creams were "gross".  When it rained or snowed he just took me to the restaurant.  I have very fond memories of those times. . . . .

Anyway, when Mom came home, it was like a total stranger had moved in, again.  She was a total wet blanket.  She never wanted to go anywhere, nor do anything.  All she wanted to do was stay home and either sleep all day, or sit parked on the sofa in front of the television, watching "the soaps".  Which by the way she thought were real life dramas!

Despite the oppressive atmosphere, I refused to be stuffed back into my "cage".  I'd forged a new relationship with Dad, and I'd found a new independence and I wasn't about to give it up because Mom was back.  So, I continued my life "around" her.

I was about 15 years old when Mom decided that she wanted to divorce  Dad.  Another decision no doubt influenced by her sickness.

She'd moved out of our apartment and was living in Brooklyn with a "great aunt" that everyone in the family called Aunt June.  Aunt June was the family matriarch.  A West Indian woman of substance, who used her prominence in the family to sponsor family members to come the United States, from the West Indies.

Back in the day, the law was, before someone could come to the United States, they had to be sponsored by a family member, who was a citizen of good standing, have a job, and a legal residence.

When Mom came to the United States, she lived with Aunt June and worked for her as a domestic, cleaning and cooking for her.  Later Mom branched out by becoming a nurse's aid.  Back then, she was hired by the hospital and trained to become a nurse's aid.  Now, you have to go to school and be licensed by the state of New York first, before becoming one.

I also must mention the fact that Aunt June, was the family matchmaker.  She knew both Mom and Dad were single, and from the same twin islands of Nieves and Saint Kitts (  just mere specks on the map ), and she arranged for them to meet, and they got married.  So, this is whom Mom ran to get help.

I recall Mom bringing home "blue papers" for Dad and I to read and sign.  I really didn't understand the divorce thing at all.  I could not fathom why Mom hated Dad so much, after all he had done for her!.  I remember becoming very angry, bitter and detesting her for what she was doing to Dad.

The worst was yet to come.  She told me that I would have to go to court on the pre-selected date, go before the judge, and select who I wanted to live with.  I already knew I wanted to stay with Dad.  At least I would have a stable life. 

Unfortunately, I never got to make that decision.  Dad had a fatal heart attack.  Because I was still a juvenile, I "had to" live with Mom.  I had no idea back then, but I would not only live with her, but take care of her too.

A responsibility I was totally incapable of handling, because I was only about 16 years old, and in the full throes of adolescence, and the heated rebellion that comes with it, and for the first time in my life, alone.

Now, as I look back on it, I really didn't have time to properly mourn the loss of my Dad, when this responsibility was abruptly thrust upon me.  In fact, I blamed  Dad's death on my Mom.  The family rumor was that my Dad had died from " a broken heart".

Thank God for a couple of neighbors, a family friend and some relatives who came to the rescue.


TO BE CONTINUED . . . . . .  PERHAPS