Don't Be Ugly

I hate my mother.

I HATE my mother.

I hate MY mother.

I hate my MOTHER.

Every time I think that statement or say that statement out loud I can hear my beloved Grandmother's southern drawl, "Now, Carrie Denise, don't be ugly, that's your mother."

Forgive me, Grandmother, because I DO hate her. With every cell of my being, I hate that woman.

I wish you were here right now, Grandmother. So we could have one of our long talks – and I could ask you questions about things I've learned recently in regards to my mother and father. I would also have to tell you how hurt I am that, in all the talks we had over the years, you knew so much more.

I need to know why you withheld all of the horrible things about my mother from me. Grandmother, you saw how I struggled with the violence, we talked about it all the time. You and I – together – tried to figure out why my dad was like that when, all along, you knew. Grandmother, YOU KNEW why.

You KNEW it was my mother who put him into impossible situations.  It was because she didn't take care of us kids, or the house, or cook - you name it - she didn't do ANYTHING!  My dad worked his ASS off to provide for his family. She did NOTHING! It was every kid for himself – and she left everything for my dad to handle when he got home from work. From fixing dinner, to punishing whichever kid needed it at the time, that was what greeted him every night when he walked in the door.

(I am NOT, by any means, providing justification for how angry and violent my dad could be with my brothers. I do however understand how my mother kept him constantly stirred up to always, ALWAYS be the bad guy.)

I know you loved my mother "like a daughter".  She thought the world of you too. Why were you keeping her secrets? She was just like HER mother.

How many times were you, or one of my Aunts, called out to our house to take care of us kids when my mother took off on one of her whoring adventures again? Who took care of us so my dad could go to work and earn money to keep a roof over our heads?

Grandmother, how many times were you witness to any of us being locked out of the house by my mother? I know you and Aunt Peggy showed up one day, Jimmy was the only child at the time, and he was throwing rocks at the door trying to break INTO the house because my mother had locked him out.

The funny stories about Jimmy painting a stripe down the side of my parents brand new car and putting rocks in the gas tank of the lawnmower as well as the story of the three boys burning the horse barn down, really weren't "funny", were they?  These things probably happened on what was my mother's watch – except she wasn't watching, was she?

She filled my head with so many lies not only about her marriage to my dad, but also about my dad. She had me believing she was a victim of an abusive marriage, that my dad still (to THIS day) owes her child support arrearages AND he still owes her money from the sale of the house that SHE only lived in for ~1 year.

Everything she told me that day while sitting at MY table, in MY peach-colored kitchen, while looking me in the eye, was complete and utter bullshit.

My dad wasn’t able to have/keep friends because she cheated on him with several men in our community. She even slept with a deacon at our church, which explains why we suddenly stopped attending. Although I only remember her being in a psych hospital once, she had actually checked herself in twice, both times because my dad caught her cheating.

There is so very much more to write about all the things I now know about my mother, and how what she did so deeply wounded my dad and, as much as I dislike them, my brothers too.

At least now I know why she refuses to believe me about my brothers; it happened on HER watch and she wasn’t paying attention.

At the end of the day though, she just doesn’t give a fuck. She never did. I suppose I always knew that; now I have proof.