Life in the last 25 years has been complicated and messy. Hard...hard...hard...but filled with some breathtaking and awe inspiring moments that I will never forget. I have loved, and I have lost. I have hurt and I have been hurt. I have been bruised, broken, displaced, misunderstood, judged, threatened, abused and have failed more times than I can count. Yet...
...yet here I stand. Here........I..........Stand.
Grateful for it all.
During my drive home, this song came on, and I allowed the tears that I had been holding back all day to fall. There are two different meanings I find in the lyrics, but I don't think there could be a song more perfect for how I feel right this minute. The story of the event I am referring to is posted under the video. Listen to this song (or don't) and then if you would be so kind as to read the rest. Then take a moment to reflect on how we are all here, with stories to tell that will connect us in so many ways. Take a moment...take a breath, and If you have the ability to help someone OUT of a dangerous domestic situation, please do.
END THE VIOLENCE
In September of 1988 I was 14 years old. I had long thick naturally curly hair and Bert (Bert and Ernie) eyebrows. At the time I lived with my dad and my younger sister. I have an older sister but she’s 7 years my senior and was already out on her own by then. The guys were EVERYTHING to me. My parents had separated that summer and were well on their way to divorcing and my world was falling apart.
The days would continue to drone on and I would get shuffled back and forth between my dad who I lived with full time and my mom who I went to see every other weekend. Ahhh, Mom. My mom was a tiny little Filipino woman who was full of life and laughter and whom from I inherited my voice. It sure as heck wasn’t Dad. She had me singing and listening to Elvis Presley at the age of 3. Her favorite comedian was Whoopi Goldberg and I’d laugh every time she’d say her name because of her broken English, it came out “Goofy Goldberg”. I could rest my chin on her head when I hugged her. We’d dance around the apartment to NKOTB music. I would rock my black and white Adidas, my peace sign necklaces, and my Hardwear baseball caps. She’d always say, “Oh honey, that Donnie is a good looking boy. He’s so handsome.” And I’d giggle and say, “Glad you think so, cuz I’m gonna marry him.” Mom would say, “Okay honey, if you believe it, I believe it,” and so it would go… Mom believed in me, that’s all I needed.
In the summer of 1989 my Mom began dating a guy named Roger. He didn’t like us kids. I mean, chased my sister down the hallway with a shotgun, didn't like us. I mean, throw gasoline in my mother's face, didn't like us. If it was our weekend to be there he would find a way not to be, which was fine by me because the guy gave me the creeps. She would begin to give reasons why it wasn’t a good time for us to come over. It was hard to not be able to go to her when I was feeling down or convinced that I wasn’t talented enough. She was my drive, my reason for doing. She would come to every performance and sit in the front row. I looked for her. She gave me the strength to go on stage.
In September of 1990 I turned 16 and was very excited to get my license. I was a Junior in High School and well on my way to graduating early. I spent every waking moment in the music room. If I didn’t HAVE to be in class you would find me there, studying or working on choreography for our Swing Choir. I loved the little room with the piano. Picturing Jordan at the keys and hearing his voice in my head. I couldn’t play but I found just sitting at one messing with the keys was soothing. And so it would go…I was on my path to “stardom”. Singing “Fame, I’m gonna live forever…”
In December of 1990 Christmas was coming and there was debate as to where we were going to spend it. Mom said that Roger was going to be out of town visiting family. We were SO excited we could spend Christmas with Mom! It was going to be so sweet!
On December 19th I drove myself and my friend Amy, over to Mom’s - big shot that I was with my license and Dad’s car- to pick up a rosary I needed for Religion class the next day. (12 years of Catholic Schooling. OY! ) I had called before I left to make sure it was okay, and Mom said, “Sure, honey, anytime tonight.”
So I went after homework, It was 9:15p.m.when I got there (Yes, I most certainly remember the time). Singing NKOTB Christmas carols the whole way there. I think Amy stayed in the car while I ran in. That part is fuzzy. I knocked on the door and I heard Roger yell, “Come in!” I thought to myself, “Oh shit. I thought he wasn’t supposed to be here. Why isn’t he in Texas?”
I opened the door and there were beer bottles everywhere and he was sitting at the table in his tattered jeans and “wife beater.” He saw me and said, “Hey baby, you know how to play cards? Come over and sit on my lap and I’ll teach you how to play.” I will never forget the knot that formed in my stomach. I simply replied, “Where’s my Mom?” Roger hollered down the hall, “Maria! It’s your kid! The pretty one.” He proceeded to give me the nasty once over. I hadn’t seen my Mom in a while and she came around the corner, wearing a men’s long sleeved button down shirt, and that was it. Of course she was so tiny anyway it went to her knees and looked like a dress, and I remember thinking that she looked smaller than usual. Sick almost. She had her rosary in her hand. She had a very far away look in her eyes, and I said, “Mom, are you okay?” She just smiled sadly and gave me a hug and said, “ Everything’s fine honey, I love you.” She was so fragile, I thought she might break when she hugged me. I accepted her assurance as true and left. But something wasn’t right and I could feel it in my gut.
I kept telling my friend, I should go back, but she’d reassure me continuously and we went home, singing NKOTB the entire way. I couldn’t sleep that night, that feeling just wouldn’t go away, and at 3a.m. my Dad knocked softly on the door, opened it to see if I was awake and, I sat up, looked right at him and said, “She’s dead isn’t she?” He just said, “Yes.” I got up walked past him and out into the living room where the Christmas tree was lit up and Christmas music was still playing. The Christmas song came on, and Jordan’s voice sent me into a tailspin of tears. I couldn’t stop crying. I just sat, in the chair, staring at the tree, crying. I vaguely remember my dad was on the phone and people were starting to come over and I just stayed there. As the sun came up “What a Wonderful World” played on the radio, and I had no more tears left. That moment…I lost everything that ever mattered to me.
On December 19th, 1990 I went to visit my Mother not knowing that was the last time I’d ever see her again. I was the last one to see her alive. After I’d left the apartment Roger and my Mother got in a fight over the fact that I was there at all. That night, Roger raped and beat my Mother and left her naked, bruised body on the floor to die and went for a drink at his ex girlfriends house, claiming that that’s where he was all night. She was was barely hanging onto life...and he left thinking she was already dead.
On December 22nd, 1990 3 days before Christmas…I buried my hero.
Imagine, just for a second if you can, a 16 year old girl, sitting on the witness stand in a court room, watching, in silence, as images of her mother's bruised, battered and lifeless body flash across the screen of a TV in front of not only her, but a room full of strangers. I could not save her that night she was brutally taken. I was powerless. The only power I had was there, on that stand. To be her voice.
The bastard is serving a life sentence, thanks to evidence and my testimony that put him at the scene of the crime at the time of death.
Now, 25 years later and I still miss you as much as I did then, Mom. And I will love you for as long as this world allows me to be a part of it.
~AM
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