My Mother’s Story

My mother fell again today.  She didn’t have a seizer, but it did inspire this blog post.  This is per her request, so, enjoy!

One upon a time, my mother was born.  And then right after that, she was put up for adoption.  Now in order for you to understand where this story is going, I have to take you on a detour.  Let’s turn our attention to the man and woman who adopted her.

The man was my grandfather.  He grew up in a loving home.  His parents loved one another, and him, and they never parted.

The woman was my grandmother.  She had two other sisters.  Her father mentally abused her.

The man and the woman meet, and get married.  She has three miscarriages.

She wants to adopt a son.  She finds one, but everyone around her told her not to go through with it, that the boy’s father is schizophrenic.  She decided to anyway.  I’m not sure if it was just her choice, or if she consulted with her husband, but to Mom’s knowledge, it was just her choice.

Then they find my mother.  She thinks she was six months old when she was picked up.

The boy, Matt, my uncle, turned out to be type four schizophrenic.  He was quite abusive, and caused many bad things to happen within the house.  He even caused my grandfather to become an alcoholic.  Even though Matt yelled and pushed, my grandma always told my grandpa to not hurt him.

My mother was sexually molested by her brother.  Not just for a little while, but for a long time.  Of course, she never told because, who would believe her?  When she finally did tell, my grandmother told her that she knew something was wrong.  When my mother moved out, that was when they moved Matt out too.

Mother was furious.  She was so angry.  How come, even though you knew something was wrong, you never got him away from her?  Because he was her son.

This caused my mother to drink.  She saw her father drink to deal with Matt and his problems, so she did the same.  Not only did she drink, but she did drugs.  And not only did she drink and do drugs, but she slept around as well.  Her birth parents didn’t want her, her adoptive parents didn’t protect her, all she wanted was to be accepted.

She had a gun put to her head, she had a possessive boyfriend who tried to kill her, she would drive dunk the wrong way down the road, she would go swimming while drunk, she got alcohol poisoning so bad that she passed out for three days, and she did multiple drugs.  She got in a car accident in which she dented the gas tank, which had a possibility of blowing up.  How much more near death can you be?

And then she found out that she is HIV+.  From sex?  From shared needles?  Does it matter?  All that matters was that she had something that could kill her…and she was pregnant.  If she had never gotten pregnant, she may have never found out, or found out when it was too late.  For the first three months, she didn’t even want me.  She didn’t like kids, and she knew she wasn’t going to be a good mom.  But when she found out, well, she loved me.

“It’s not her fault,” she cried to God, “Please don’t let her be positive.  She doesn’t deserve this.  It’s my fault, not hers.”  For the next six months, this was her prayer, her cry, her plea.  And when I was born, I was born positive.

That’s what happens, children of woman who don’t take medicine are normally born positive.   But, they usually stay positive.  I did not.  One year later, I was tested again, and I was negative.

This is strange for people to hear.  Every time my mother tells someone this story, they look at me like it’s paranormal, supernatural, strange.  They’re speechless.  I am, apparently, a miracle.

Years later, the disease caught up to her.  She became so ill, so sickly, that she turned into a 90 pound skeleton.  Couldn’t eat, couldn’t walk, couldn’t stand.  I missed a lot of school that year.

But that was as far as that got.  Somehow, something changed and she was able to eat again.

She got sick again years later, and this time it affected her heart.  So, she had to get open heart surgery.  Surgery is always a scary thing, anything could go wrong.  But, nothing did.

She got pneumonia, and that plus the disease, could have killed her.  But, she lived.

And then this whole seizer business, when I thought she was going to die.  That doesn’t help the situation.  But, she’s alive and better than she was before it happened.

My mother had to go through drunkenness, drugs, alcohol poisoning, a gun to her head, a possessive boyfriend, car crashes, surgeries, sickness, a seizer, and a life threatening disease.  And she is still alive.

“I should be dead,” my mother said to me, “why am I still alive?”  I wanted to tell her what I thought, but I stayed quiet to hear what she had to say.  “I’m alive for you” she said.  “I’m alive because God wanted me to be your mom.”  I smiled.  That’s what I was thinking.  “God must have something great in store for you.”  Well that’s encouraging, mind telling what that is God?  Because I’m a little confused.

I may not know what that is, but I do know that I have a mother that can escape death…well, for now.  Now’s not her time.

I love my mother very much, and her story continues to inspire me.  If I don’t do something with my life, then all of this will be for naught.  I can’t let that happen.

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2 thoughts on “My Mother’s Story

    1. Thank you, Zaq. I’m glad you enjoyed it. I enjoyed writing about it. And just think, this was just my mother’s story. I’ve been through my share of hard times as well (absolutely nothing like this though, don’t get me wrong). My mother is definitely my inspiration for living, and now everyone knows why.

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