My Mother, My Angel
Before my mom brought me home to live with her and my brothers, I did not know what it was like to have a mother. I never knew a mother's touch or love. I was born to a drug addicted mother, my father left shortly after I was born. The first memory that I have of my biological mother is of her passed out on the couch from drugs. My biological mother would constantly tell me that she did not want me. She would yell at me and hit me for any little thing I did. She neglected me, and I would go days without food or a bath. She would also constantly tell me that I was bad. I thought that she didn't love me because I was bad. I thought that if I could just be good, then maybe she would love me. Despite of everything, I still loved her and desperately wanted her to love me.
My stepfather, who would also hit me and my mom, shot and killed her in front of me. I was removed from the home and placed in my first foster home. I was four years old. I stayed in this foster home for one month and was neglected. I was hardly given anything to eat and I was filthy. When I got sick with a cold and was running a high fever, no one took care of me I was not even given any medicine for my fever. I was just left there on the bed, sick and alone.
After I was removed from my first foster home, I was placed in several other foster homes over the next year and a half, in which I was neglected, emotionally, and physically abused. When I was five and a half years old, I was placed in what would be my last foster home before coming to live with Evelyn. That is when I was raped for the first time by my foster father. He would beat and molest me. When he beat me and I cried, he would tell me to stop crying like a little girl and take it like a man. If I cried when he came into my room at night to molest me, he would beat me before he molested me. When he molested me, I felt so dirty and ashamed. One night, I wet the bed and he beat me so severely that he broke my arm, and my arm was in a sling. When he was raping me, he would tell me that I liked it. He would also constantly call me bad, slut, dirty, worthless, and useless. He would only tell me I was a good boy, if I did not cry when he molested or beat me, or did not hide under the bed when he came into my room to molest me.
My foster father would sometimes bring men over to the house to rape me so he could get money to buy drugs. His wife was also a drug addict and a drunk, who would sometimes watch when he molested me. The last day that I spent in that house, it's a miracle I survived at all. My foster father severely beat me because I hid under the bed when he brought several men over to rape me. He dragged me from under the bed and beat me then he dragged me by one arm down the stairs to the basement, dislocating my shoulder. He threw me on a dirty mattress and tied me to a pipe. He then started sending the men down the stairs one by one. By the third one, I was thinking please no more I could not take one more. I finally passed out, and when I woke up, there was a police officer knelt beside me. He untied my arm and covered me with a blanket. I had bruises, cuts, and scrapes all over my body, a dislocated shoulder, and blood running down between my legs. I spent two years in that house. For two years, I was neglected, physically, and sexually abused.
After I was rescued by the police, I was taken to the hospital and had to undergo embarrassing examinations, I was touched, swabbed, and pictures were taken of my private areas. I cried, screamed, and struggled. I thought I was going to be molested again and had to be held down while they performed the examinations and took pictures of me. The abuse I suffered that day was so severe, that I had to have stitches put in my bottom. It was so painful that I cried and screamed, and had to be held down until they finally sedated me.
I hated hospitals, still do till this day. I was taken to the hospital more times than I can count throughout my years in foster care. Of course, my foster parents would always lie about how I got hurt. "He fell off his bike" one of my foster fathers said to the doctor when he broke my arm and did not take me to the hospital for several days. I did not even have a bike; never had one. For days, I cried myself to sleep because my arm hurt so bad.
After being rescued by the police and taken to the hospital, I was so traumatized that I did not speak to anyone, and would flinch if any of the nurses or doctors even got near me. I had been in the hospital for a couple of days when Evelyn came to visit me. The angel, I thought. She had blonde hair and gentle blue eyes and looked just like an angel. I did not speak to her and flinched when she tried to touch me. She understood though and kept her distance. She spoke to me softly, and told me everything was going to be okay. I wanted to believe her, I wanted to trust her, I really did, but after everything that I had been through, it was hard for me to believe or trust anyone.
Throughout my years in foster care, when I was being beaten and molested, I often prayed that someone would hear my screams and come save me, but no one ever heard my screams. I felt so worthless, alone, unwanted and unloved. I prayed to have a family, to be loved and cared for, and to know a mother's touch.
After a couple more days in the hospital, Evelyn came to visit me again, and told me that I would be going home with her. I was so scared would this home be the same as the other homes I lived at? I thought.
When we arrived at her house, and she introduced me to her three sons, I was terrified of them, they were much older and bigger than me, and I thought they were going to hit or touch me. When I first arrived at Evelyn's house, I did not speak a word to anyone and would shrug, point, or nod when anyone asked me a question.
After a few days of being at the house, and not being hit or touched, I remember thinking that this house did not seem so bad, and that they seemed like pretty nice people, but I did not want to get my hopes up. In other homes I had been at, they were nice in the beginning and then the hitting or touching would start.
After a month or so of being in the home, I suffered a nightmare. I woke up screaming in the middle of the night, and Evelyn came running into my room. She tried to hug me and at first I flinched, but I finally gave in and let her hug me. Her hug felt so warm and she smelled of flowers, I wanted her to hug me forever. She picked me up and placed me on her lap, she continued to hug me and rock me gently as she stroked my back. She spoke softly into my ear, telling me it was okay. This was the first time in my life; I had felt a mother's touch or had been hugged in such a way. After I calmed down, she placed me back in the bed and stayed with me until I fell asleep; she stroked my hair and gave me a kiss on the forehead. The next morning, I remember thinking that I wished Evelyn could be my mom. Maybe this home was not the same as the other homes I had lived at, I've been fed, and no one has hit or touched me since I've been here, I thought. Too bad I will be leaving soon. As soon as they see how bad and dirty I am, they will get rid of me, like they always do, I thought.
I started feeling a little more comfortable with Evelyn and started speaking to her, only to her. I still did not speak to my brothers. The next morning after I suffered the nightmare, she came into my room to look for some clothes I could wear because she was going to take me to the store to buy me some new clothes. When she looked inside one of the dresser drawers she found I had hidden my toothbrush in one of the drawers, and also noticed that I still had not unpacked the bag that I had brought with me. She told me that I didn't need to steal my own toothbrush anymore, that no one would take it.
She also said that I did not have to take food anymore, that I could eat all the food I wanted.
The day before, she had caught me with my pockets all full, and she explained to me that I did not have to take food anymore, and that I was welcome to the food in the house whenever I wanted. In the foster homes I had lived at, they did not want me and were just looking for an extra check. They would hardly give me anything to eat, so I would take what I could get and put it in my pockets. She also told me it was okay to unpack. But what if I have to leave I asked her. Evelyn told to me that I would not be leaving because she was going to adopt me. She explained to me what it meant to have a family, what it meant to be adopted, and what it meant to have a last name. She explained to me that she would be my mom and I would be her son, and that Bobby, Jerry, and Angel would be my brothers and we would be a family, and that I would have the last name Mercer. When she asked me if it was okay if she adopted me, of course I said yes. I was happy that she was going to be my mom.
Later that day she took me to the store to buy new clothes and shoes. No one had ever bought me new clothes or shoes before. All I ever had were hand me downs. And the only time, I would get to wear anything nice was when the social workers came to the house to perform their inspections. My foster parents made me wear long sleeve shirts to hide the bruises, and they would pretend to be nice to me during the inspections, that way the social workers did not notice that anything was wrong. They would also make me wear long sleeves to school so the teacher would not notice the bruises.
After we came home from the store, Evelyn had me bake cookies with her. I really enjoyed spending time in the kitchen and baking with her. Although I was speaking to Evelyn, I was still not speaking to my brothers and did not feel comfortable around them yet. While waiting for the cookies to bake, Evelyn asked me to give my brothers a chance, that they were not scary at all and were actually nice, even Bobby. And that he may look scary, but he was actually a softie and had a big heart. "Jackie no one is going to hurt you, you're safe now" she said.
Eventually, I started speaking to my brothers, feeling more comfortable around them and trusting them more. I learned that Evelyn was right, they were nice, even Bobby. They took me places I had never been to before, like the zoo and the carnival, taught me how to play hockey, ride a bike, swim, and many other things. All I had ever known were belts, slaps, and being starved, locked in closets, being burned with cigarettes, and molested. For the first time in my life, I was able to have fun, laugh, and just be a kid. My brothers also protected me, made me feel safe, and comforted me after a nightmare.
I love my brothers, and could not imagine my life without them. They are always there for me in good times and bad. They are the best big brothers I could ever ask for, and my best friends.
Before my mom brought me to live with her and my brothers, I did not know what love was. I thought that love meant being hit or touched. It was not until I came to live with my mom and my brothers that I learned what love was. Love did not mean getting hit or touched. Mom explained to me that when someone loves you they don't hurt or touch you.
I also did not know what it meant to belong to a family, and mom explained to me that belonging to a family meant caring for another, always being there for one another in good times and bad, feeling safe, and loving one another.
I would often tell my mom that I was bad and dirty. Only bad boys got hit or touched, I thought. She explained to me that I was not bad and dirty; that what had happened to me was called abuse and that it was not my fault. She would have me repeat it over and over again that it was not fault.
My mom was the best mother I could ever ask for. She was kind, caring, patient, understanding, and very loving. She took good care of me, stayed up all night with me when I was sick read to me at night, and comforted me after a nightmare. Mom was a very good cook, and was the one who taught me how to cook and bake. I loved spending time in the kitchen with her, just me and her cooking, talking, and listening to music, even if my brothers did tease me and call me a mama's boy and mommy's little baker.
I was very much a mama's boy, and my brothers teased me about it, but I didn't care.
My mom listened to me when I had a problem and gave me really good advice. She was always there for me, and helped me through some very difficult times such as when I did drugs and engaged in cutting. During these times, she sat down with me, talked and listened to me. She hugged me and comforted me, and helped me to understand that I did these things as a way to deal with the pain of the abuse I suffered as a kid.
When I was younger, I was severely traumatized by the abuse I endured as a kid. I suffered from nightmares, wet the bed, rarely spoke, hid under the bed when I was scared, cried, yelled, kicked and screamed when someone tried to pick me up in their arms, suffered from panic attacks, ran out the door or curled up on the floor with my knees to my chest when something or someone scared me, and flinched when someone tried to touch me because I thought I was going to be hit or molested. When I think back on it now, and everything my mom had to deal with when I first came to live with her, I don't know how she did it. She had so much patience with me, and not once did she yell at me or lose her patience with me.
As I became older, I still suffered from nightmares and panic attacks. I also began cutting, doing drugs, suffered from post-traumatic stress, depression, panic attacks, and even attempted suicide once. My mother was with me through it all, and helped me during these difficult times.
My mom never yelled at me, at any of us, not even Bobby. She never yelled at us, not even when we tested her patience, or did something bad. Mom was very sweet and kind, but she was no pushover, and always knew what we were up to, we could not hide anything from her. We used to like to kid and say that she was psychic because she always knew what we were doing. She could also be stern and would have a talk with us when we did something wrong and ground us.
She could also be fierce, especially when it came to protecting kids. She would stand up to anyone who hurt a kid, or failed to protect a kid. It was amazing to see this little woman standing up to someone that was three times her size. She could also be fierce when it came to her kids. I remember once when I was in high school, this kid picked on me and started a fight with me, and I was the one that was called into the principal's office and was going to be suspended. Mom was called, and when she showed up and I told her what happened, she became angry. I had never seen her that way before. She stood up to the principal, and told him that I was the victim, and should not be suspended, that the other kid should be suspended instead of me. Needless to say, I was not suspended.
My mom was very supportive of me, and always encouraged me to follow my dreams. When I discovered my love for music, and told her I wanted to be a rock star, she paid for the guitar and singing lessons, and told me that if I worked hard it, I would someday achieve my dream of becoming a rock star. She always believed in me. My mom and I shared a love for music, she owned a collection of records and a record player, and would listen to music all the time. Sometimes she danced around the living room to the music, or sang along. My mom really enjoyed hearing me sing and play the guitar, and attended several of my shows. When she attended one of my shows, and I looked at her from the stage, she always had a huge smile on her face and looked so proud. One time during one of my shows, I dedicated a song to her. It was a poem that I had given to her on her birthday when I was sixteen. It was titled: My mother, my angel, the angel who saved me and I had turned the poem into a song. When I sang her the song, she cried, and I cried too. "I love you Mom" I told her after I finished singing the song and hugged her "I love you too" she told me. My mom once explained to me that sometimes it was the people who had been hurt the most; the ones that suffered the most pain that created the most beautiful music.
My mom had a very quirky personality, and was very funny. She believed in having fun and enjoying life. She loved life. She even had a tattoo on her left shoulder. She was a hippie when she was younger and even went to Woodstock.
My mom was the sweetest, kindest, most caring, and compassionate person in the world. She was a social worker that helped find homes for hundreds of kids in foster care. My mom loved her community and was always helping everyone in the community. She believed in making things better and remained hopeful that things were getting better. My mom organized food and clothing drives. Every year for Christmas, she organized a toy drive. On Thanksgiving, she would make extra food and give it to anyone that came knocking on our door. The rest of the year, if someone showed up at our door hungry, she would always give them something to eat. She never turned anyone away. She was also very involved in her church and was always helping out with the various events at the church. My mom also helped the elderly people that lived in the neighborhood, making sure they were okay, visiting them, and taking them something to eat. Mom cared about everyone and always saw the good in people.
My mom loved all holidays. She would go all out on holidays and decorate the house. Christmas was huge at our house. She would decorate the house, we would decorate the tree together, there was always Christmas music playing, she would bake cookies, and make a delicious holiday meal. Thanksgiving was also big at our house. No one could cook a more delicious meal on Thanksgiving than my mom.
Mom was a devout Catholic and attended church every Sunday. My brothers and I would sometimes accompany her to church when we were younger and sometimes just mom and I would go. She taught me how to pray with the rosary. We also said grace before every meal.
I adored my mom and was very much a mama's boy. I even have a tattoo of a heart with the name "Evelyn" inside it on my arm. She called me her baby and I didn't mind. I enjoyed being her baby. There were many benefits to being her baby. I got most of her attention; she babied me a lot, and when my brothers teased or picked on me, she would always defend me. If they were picking on me or bothering me, I would run and tell her, and she would tell them to stop, although would tease me about running to mommy. My brothers would tease me about being her baby, but I didn't care.
When I graduated high school and received my diploma, my mom was very proud of me, she smiled at me, and I smiled back at her from the stage as the principal handed me the diploma.
At 19, I left for New York. Detroit was a great city for those interested in becoming rap or hip hop artists, but not for white boys that played the guitar. I loved my mom so much and did not want to leave her. It would be the first time since she adopted the four of us that she would be all alone in the house. Jerry was married and lived with his wife and kids, Angel was in the military, and Bobby, the on and off again resident, had left a week prior to me leaving. Mom cried when she said goodbye to me at the airport, but she never tried to stop me. "I always taught you to follow your dreams, it would be hypocritical of me if I tried to keep you here all to myself" she said. I missed her a lot when I was in New York, but I would call her on the phone often. On my twentieth birthday, I visited her and celebrated my birthday with her and my brothers.
My band is called the Spares, and I am the lead singer and guitarist. We had played just about every joint in the city of New York. We didn't make much money, and I was working on the side as a waiter, but I was happy and doing what I loved. It was all worth it when I got to get on stage and sing my heart and soul out. Angel and Bobby had both seen me perform in New York. Angel had been on leave and had called to tell me he would be coming to New York to see me perform. One night, I was on stage and I looked up and was surprised to see Bobby, drinking a beer at the bar, with what looked like a proud smile on his face
After only six months of being in New York, and after only a few weeks of having celebrated my twentieth birthday, I received a call from Detroit, it was my brother Jerry. Jerry, our voice of reason, "Mom's dead" he said in a calm voice. I began screaming and crying as I fell to the floor. "Calm down Jackie, Take a deep breath, calm down breathe" "Just come home, I booked you a flight".
Going from foster home to foster home when I was younger, I always prayed to have a mother, and to know a mother's love, and now that I finally had a mother she was gone. I would never hear her voice again, I would never hear her laugh or see her smile again, she would never hug me or kiss me again, or call me her baby again, and she would never wrap her arms around me in comfort and tell me everything was okay. I would never see her again. I was young and I still needed a mother. I needed her so much. Mom was the only one that truly made me feel safe, and now she was gone, and that sense of safety was also gone.
My mom, my angel; the angel who saved me. If it weren't for her, I don't know where I would be today. I don't think I would be alive today if it weren't for my mom. Thank you, mom for saving me, for choosing me to be your son, and for loving me. Thank you for giving me a home, a family, and for allowing me to know a mother's love. I love you and miss you so very much. You will forever live in in my heart. You are my guardian angel now please watch over me, over all of us, until we meet again.