Crying Rose

Life is never easy all the time, nor is it always hard. Sometimes we face difficult things, obstacles if you will, and we learn from them, okay I get that.
I have yet to learn from the greatest obstacle in my life. The childhood I never had. Living in a box were you don’t know if you will eat real food or
sausages in a can from the church shelter. Where the two people in your life whom you should be able to trust and love implicitly are your captors and torturers. Your parents who gave you life seem set on beating it out of you
each and every day. I life where a eight year old boy and his nine year old sister contemplate killing their parents as it is their only option for escape. How does one find the “great message” in that? Well hopefully we’ll find out here together. This is the first of a series of posts on my life, And a bit before I was born. I will put as much of It in as I know so as to show others where it starts. I am not a professional writer so I am sorry if I am not as clear or entertaining as one. This may be considered graphic by some, but it is truth and I will try to keep it pg13, I may sound a bit bitter in places but some of this I've already written So I am just rewriting with more detail - R
CHAPTER 1: parents
My father had already married once before, during his stint in the army. He himself endured a tormented childhood where his Father beat and starved him, his siblings and his mother. She left when he was just a boy of five. She had a mental breakdown and went to a center for help. She wasn’t able to return until the children were already grown because she was ashamed of leaving them.Grandmother couldn’t even remember giving birth to his younger sister Becky who was only a baby when she left.
Grandfather soon remarried one of the women he was cheating on Grandmother with.and just brought her home one day saying “This is your new mom, listen to what she says or You’ll get beat .” His stepmother beat him with a belt and locked him in the attic for days at a time.they were treated much the same as we were. Except they were stabbed with silverware that wasn’t washed properly, and hit with pots over the head if they had stuck on food if they didn’t clean them right. When he was 18 he ran away to the army. He married a girl he knew and they had a daughter Angela, they divorced 3 yrs after and he gave up parental rights. That is all I know of his life prior to meeting my mother.
My mother lost her leg at 19 to a drug addicted crazed boyfriend bent on killing her for leaving him. She never fully got over that. She was a teacher, beautiful and hoping to become a model. She moved to Indiana
with him to start a new life away from her sheltering family. The boyfriend she soon realized was selling and using coke and other assorted drugs( this was during the 70s). The drug abuse soon took over his life and my mother began to fear for hers. She packed her clothes and ran to her car, where he hopped in the drivers seat and plowed her into a tree. She nearly lost her life fortunately she only lost one leg, a quart of blood and Her dreams of modeling. The boyfriend who disabled my mother was not prosecuted, they settled out of court for a paltry sum, Mom just wanted it over. Papa almost killed him over it. She didn't want Papa or they Ex to go to jail she just wanted him gone. she had a lot of physical and mental therapy after the "accident". She became a teacher’s aide at a local school back in Georgia once she recuperated.

CHAPTER 2: They Meet and Children
are born
. My mother didn’t marry at too young of an age but was naive in the workings of the world and how some people are corrupt beyond saving. She had grown up In a small town in Florida. She met my father at of all places a church. ‘Nice enough young man, good looking too.’ She thought. They were married in 6 months. The verbal abuse started on their honeymoon, They went to a church conference in Oklahoma city and stayed at the holiday Inn. They loved the city so much they decided to move not to far away in Broken Arrow.
I was born a year later. Rick often got angry and threw things. ‘But that’s not so bad he’s just stressed’ Mom thought. She was taught to be quiet, demure and indulgent of her husbands whims. A trait taught by her parents and church. My Grandmother (Rick’s mother) came to visit and help while I was small to help take care of me . Soon my Father kicked her out, she wasn’t needed there, and wasn’t welcome to tell him her opinions of his hitting his wife, after all She left him, he didn’t ask her to come back. To this day I haven’t seen my Grandmother again. My mother got pregnant again shortly after I was born. It was a boy the ultrasound said. Rick was overjoyed. She ended up having my brother prematurely for reasons unknown to me. He lived but was very weak and had a heart murmur. They moved back to the farm in Georgia that my grandfather owned because of financial reasons. Rick was going to heavy equipment school in Florida. Where he amassed a huge debt. When he couldn’t keep a Job at CAT he flipped out on us all. The rage inside him was turning unpredictable. Granddad was suspicious of abuse, and I often stayed with him and granny to avoid hearing the conflict. When mom conceived another child unexpectedly, a few short months after my brother was born, Rick was not happy. Another mouth to feed! He sulked for a few months in denial and hoping to find a way to make it work. Not that it mattered, He got angry at her one night, proceeded to abort it by choking my mother until her water broke. Rick told her not to tell her father or he would kill her, but if she didn’t he promised to never do it again. She believed him and his false tears, Grandpa was never told, my baby sister, Rubie Jeanette died in the hospital born 4 ½ months premature. My other brother, Timothy James was conceived and killed in a very similar manner, though the details were blurry by the time I found out the reasons for the tiny graves across the street at the family plot. The only difference, he caught pneumonia and died after five days in the NICU. Mom convinced herself that it was okay since it was only her he hurt and not us kids If he ever hurt us, well that would be the end of it. Forgetting I suppose, the two tiny lives inside her tossed aside like so much litter. To this day I cannot go to their graves. I grieve for the family I never knew but I wish I could forget. I fear the anger with which they were wrenched from this world will come back upon me, And take over my mind like my father’s. I know I am capable of it but I refuse to concede, I do not know what pushes a person to that edge and leads them to jump off it, but I hope I never get there to see. He is the only person I ever hated to the extent of bodily harm. I do not want to “get the disease”. I try and I pray and I watch for signs that aren’t there, but perhaps in my searching is my paranoia? The fear that I will become ill Is my illness…
CHAPTER 3: The Farm
Up until we moved to Georgia Rick had never hit My brother or me. My mother said that i used to wait by the door for my father to come home from work every day. He would always take me aside and rad to me or play and talk to me. But one day I got a little older and told her( after the babies died) " Daddy lost all his good stuff" As soon as we were old enough to talk and “sass back” we started to get hit too. Not a minor swat on the bum like most conservative parents, but full on force blows to the head, back, bum, whatever was most convenient. After a few years mom started being the punish-er too. Her Eyes would glint with the angry fire of a tortured soul. I know now that she was just reacting to the stresses and pressure of being attacked herself. Like an abused Dog she lashed out at those weaker than her, to prove that she still had power amidst her own insecurity. But a child cannot see that only the ultimate betrayal from the one you love the most. Stupid things would be cause enough like a spelling mistake, or not tying a shoe. We would be lashed at with sticks or a belt, old ping-pong paddle, whatever until we had whelps on whatever body part was caught in the fury. We cried and she would stop finally when we begged her to. As if some invisible pressure was lifted. Spit on slapped to the floor and kicked to the corner where we would stand while she stood over us berating and screaming until our ears would ring. Slapping at us and kicking all the while we MUST STAND UP.or we would be PULLED up by the hair. Just for
it to start all over again when He got home to find out we did wrong. No one ever knew, and if they did they obviously never cared enough to report it. I lived more with Grandma and Papa than with my parents, even going to church with them and begging to stay the night every night just to escape. Grandma thought it was cute and rarely said no. Not knowing my truest reasons why. I still loved the visits, I mean how cool is it to chase cows and garden all day. Learning to sew and bake with granny are my best memories. Granny and I used to pick snap peas and tomatoes in her garden and sell them at the market. Papa would take me and my brother out to unroll hay for the cattle, and to the pond for fishing lessons. He would play his banjo and guitar for us at night and sing us old songs from when He was young. He smelled like Stetson and peppermints. And in the summer after church we would get blueberry Ice-cream. In the winter we got Hot cocoa and coffee. If you were sick Vicks chloriseptic or aspirin would cure all. I remember Christmas plays at church with Granny and Papa In the front row smiling up at me like my parents should have. I don’t remember them even being there though they may have been. I was happy most of the days there until Papa found out about the abuse (Rick’s) Papa confronted Rick and Mom was given the ultimatum of Him or a life on the farm. Guess who she chose every time.
Chapter 4: Moving and punishment
I still remember looking Out the window of the U-haul back at Granny holding onto Papa Crying as we left. And the want to leap from the car and run back to her. First we went back to Oklahoma, for awhile, staying with my aunt and uncle in a small rural town called Pryor until Rick had a decent job. We went to church every Sunday in Tulsa, an hour’s drive away but Mom had a church and friends there from before they left the
first time. I had a friend who was one month older than me, his sister was 2 days older than my brother. We sat together in church and often visited them at their home. I think we stayed with them once after a fight, before we moved again. We moved like nomads from place to place never staying long enough to from attachments or for anyone to get curious, we had two basic areas we would come back to because mom had family there: The Farm and Oklahoma. We weren’t allowed to go to public schools. we went to a private school once when I was about 8 I think. Mom taught K and 1st
But she home-schooled us for the majority of the time.
In most states we lived in it was still illegal. There wasn’t much to anything for testing and regulations at the time. Many were doing it for the same reasons as they were. This was in the years before the tragedy in Colorado so there really was no excuse other than they
were afraid of prying eyes finding our many bruises. If a stranger asked us about them there was always a ready made excuse from one of them, “biking, soccer, oh you know kids ha ha.” Wielding thick pencils or wood boards if we didn’t give the correct spelling answer. God forbid we didn’t make a perfect score on a test. We were:”worthless, a waste of life, stupid”. This was an every day thing. When are we going to fail? We knew it would happen, pens in the pencil case, a stinky sock carelessly left in the hall. These were treacherous crimes in the HOUSE. When we learned what was right and wrong something new would pop up to mess up at. We were never good enough for THEM.

My brother and I prayed every day for GOD to rescue us. Send his angels to find us and take us away. Where were they when he was lying on the floor so many times begging “daddy stop, I’m sorry.” When we were lashed like slaves with a belt across the back and
legs for not properly cleaning our rooms? Some say “why, they were there, you aren’t dead are you? You survived.” Well okay what about those of us who didn’t? what justice and God is there for them? Perhaps, he was with us since we survived, But its just not right to me that our brother and sister, and so many more children in the world had to go. What brings me to this question (and my difficulty pertaining to religion I think) is the irony of mom and dad both being leaders of the youth and in nursery at church. We were faithful every Sunday morn, night, every Wednesday too. These people entrusted their children to the madmen who treated their own as mangy street dogs. These poor unsuspecting parents just handed them over. Fortunately for them the children of others were as royalty. While we were the whipping boys of their financial, physical and marital problems. And here’s the part I really DON”T GET AT ALL. After a beating and cursing
out, Mom would go to our rooms and cry and say how sorry she was and that she loved us and if we were only good all the time. And proceed with a bedtime story and off to dreamland while she got attacked as well for whatever reason. Literally as soon as she walked out our door. I feel sorry for her now. Since I’m older and I realize she’ was hurt and miserable and so took her pain onto us. She simply couldn’t cope. Her rage and hurt at him came out at us. We trapped her to where she couldn’t flee. She couldn’t make it as a single disabled parent. It made her feel worth something to Lord it over two kids. I mean she was wrong, granted but I can see her confusion. The built up feelings had to go somewhere. I just wish they would have went into a skillet to the back of HIS head instead of a strap to our backs. We tried to get her to. Call a shelter or the police but she always said they would take us away to an orphanage were we would starve
and be treated worse than we already were. Of course we believed her so we never called for ourselves.
My brother and I planned to run away several times instead, to go back to the farm. As soon as we devised a worthy plot, they would take us to the toy store or a museum. Somewhere that was nice, pleasant, bribe worthy to a child. Pick something anything we wanted. Enticing us to stay just a bit longer not in I’m sorry’s or hugs, but in objects, places, useless things that would buy off a small naive child. But hey, some type of apology is better than none at all. I would have taken them all back if it could have stopped the abuse. But that’s not how it goes.
CHAPTER 5 : Missouri and escape
And on it went we moved to Missouri in ‘98 I think where we met a neighbor named no lie “Martha Jane” I’ll leave her last name out. But she knows who she is. She talked to my mom about domestic abuse and had her over
for tea a lot. Her son “MattW’ and my brother Matt were inseparable. When we rode our bikes down the storm drains, caught stuff on fire and did REAL kid stuff. I actually could pretend I was normal. My brother started drinking and smoking pot to deal with the pain. He and Matt W were a lot alike in that they both resented their fathers.
Matt W's father was in prison for conning. and he was Also adopted. his adopted brothers and sisters treated him and Martha like strangers.he was alone and angry like my brother. they would go out in the woods and kill squirrels and birds with BB guns. and yet they were still kind when they got home.one day we went to they mall with mom. there was a hemp wares stand giving out edible hemp seed samples. he thought it would be funny to tease mom with. she flew hot and took him home to Rick. who then stomped ME in the leg below the knee almost breaking it. I still to this day have problems with my knees from the
kicks. How dare I let Bro do this I am older he is my responsibility. turning to bro he backhanded him across the side table. you stupid shit. I knew you were no good. the rest of the fight was a blur I don't remember much else but him finally throwing Bro onto his bed semiconscious. I ran to my room as he did this, so as to prevent getting anymore. The next day Rick stayed home from Work. Bro was drawing cartoons in his room. At this time he had wanted to be a cartoonist. EH finished his drawing, and went to put the markers way on the filing cabinet. They slid off behind it. Rick was watching T.v in the same room. he stood and flew over to Bro who was already cowering ready for the blows " I'm sorry I'll get them,I'm sorry I'll get them" as the cabinet was thrown on top of him. he crawled out and was picking up the markers, but not fast enough. Rick drug him into the living room by his arm. slapping or punching him in the face.spitting and cursing
unintelligible from my room where I packed my clothes to jump out the window and run if it got worse.I opened my door as mom opened hers. she was holding baby brother, only 2 months old. a bottle in her hand. "Rick stop the neighbors will hear. " stop now thats enough. "as Bro looks up at my his eyes said GO run but help me if you can. he was almost unconscious. "do you want some too? I'm tired of you letting them get away with this shit. go back too your room." he shoved her. baby bro's head hit the wall. HER temper unleashed though still afraid for her own safety, she slung the half empty baby bottle upside ricks head. Bro screamed "Run Bekah go now." he staggered to his room as I dashed to the back door. I went down the road to a friends house who I knew would at least have a way to get Bro out and at most have a gun.
Mom some how got out right after me and called for me to wait for her and the baby. When she caught up we called my aunt in
Oklahoma to come and get us. Who in turn called the police. Rick had Bro and himself barricaded in Bro's room the police sent a local sniper squad out since they knew he had weapons in the house. but he released Bro and they brought Rick out in cuffs and not a bag. we stayed our last night in Missouri with Martha Jane.our uncle came and took most of our things and us to his home in Oklahoma and then on to the farm in Georgia. Since Mom never went back to Missouri to court the charges were dropped and rick was released, with a 30 day restraining order on him. 6 months later he came to Georgia and asked for his tools we had taken with us. 10,000 worth. he took them and said eh was going to get a job and sent us money from Waycross. we went to church with him once. and then we never saw him again. Mom called around and found out that he had had a job in Tifton. but had left a week earlier. four years we didn't see him. four years of only suffering moms
abuses, which were not so daily, since she was more worried about the baby than what we were doing. then one day we got a package from him makeup and toys for Christmas which was quite a few months away and letters that started off I'm sorry, I'm getting help I've made mistakes to the 7th page: My home is my castle I am God there how dare you be subordinate to ME. do as I say and you wont get what you did And DESERVED. yeah real convincing. after two or three more he quit writing until last year. his step mom called me. your dad Is dying. He has Hep. C,we don't know how long he's had it. or how long he has to live. call and talk to him. after a few days I did. I even let him say hello to my daughter. but then he still said it wasn't my fault i did what I did you and Bro shouldn't have provoked me. you shouldn't have been so messy you shouldn't have fought back. I hung up, he went into a coma the next day and died on my anniversary. no apologies, no
regrets. I did not go to his funeral. He was buried in Leavenworth national cemetery with honorable soldiers and heroes.II have his flag. i keep it buried in a box or memory albums in my closet I rarely look at it.
Bro never would go to counseling after a pastor told him he should have known better and been better for his parents and he wouldn't have been beat so badly. he started using drugs more and more heavily. Mom's had three mental breakdowns and almost died. ran away with baby bro during one selling her jewelry for a room in a motel, no food but crackers and water two days the police picked her up and took her to savannah. her boyfriend from the internet before the breaks waited for her to get out and stable. Bro was using more and more drugs I offered to put him in Jrotc or boot camp, anything. He refused mom refused to sign the discharge to in-vol boot camp. she Is now in AU with her husband Dino who I am grateful for. Bro
OD-ed last year I didn't know until 2 moths ago. His heart will shut down if he does anymore drugs, he says. cant even use Vicks vapor rub, or Claritin, decongestants, nothing. damn near unemployed and a possible abuser himself. I shake at the sound of a loud voice and cannot watch "Ya-ya sisterhood" with out going into shock and shaking, crying attacks. I shut down.
do you want this for your self or your kids? if you are in this type of situation or one similar Get out now get help now. there is no later only a grave. there are places and people who can and will help you. look for them. no one deserves to be hurt and a man who hits a woman or child is not a man. the same goes for a woman.


Epilogue: Now

My Bro, got help for his anger management and is now doing well with his wife and three little boys, yes they had more children. With his heart he is unable to work and so has been staying at home with the boys and becoming a very good father whom I am very proud of. our baby brother tragically has some very severe psychiatric problems which I could not help him with and is living in a Methodist home for boys. Our mother had another metal break and is in a hospital in Australia. There is much more to that story which caused me to be attacked by her and caused a severe panic attack and regression, but I was able to talk to a very good counselor who helped me resolve my fears pretty well. I still am not ready to tell that story, but in time I think I will.