#HappyMothersDay : A thread.

My mother was murdered when I was 18 months old.

So, for me, Mother's day is a time for reflection, gratitude, and remembrance. During my morning meditation today I tried to reach out to her and reconnect, and was inspired to share this story.

1/

The weirdest thing about my mother being dead before I knew about the birds & the bees was that up until I was 9, I thought I would be getting a mother. I just figured that my wanderlust-temper-tantrum-scary-black-man of a father would only need to find a woman, and Boom! Mom!
2/

Obviously, that was a flawed belief - but I didn't know that until I found a laminated piece of paper describing some woman's death that read "Survived by ..." and had my full name in it. I then realized that this was my mother's obituary.

3/

Later that day, I asked my father (remember, I was 9 years old), "What happened to my mother?".

With a horrid look clearly communicating that I should never talk about this again, he flatly said "She was shot. In a burglary."

I cried most of that day. I still feel that loss.
4/

Fast forward. I'm 17, recently graduated high school, and I receive a letter from a man I never met (my maternal uncle) saying that my maternal grandmother is dying, and that if I want to see her, this would probably be my last chance.

I started driving w/in days.

5/

When I showed up, a woman looking strikingly like my mother (I'd seen ONE picture) answered the door, and for a split second I thought my mom was alive!

But no, this was her sister, my aunt. I can't even remember her name - she was stricken with lupus at the time.

6/

I walk in to the home & my early childhood memories came flooding back; Picking strawberries, kicking soccer balls, bathing, smells, & the like.

I'd spent the first 4 years of my life back & forth between my maternal & paternal grandmothers. I never had a living grandfather.
7/

There, on the couch, with a tumor the size of a watermelon in her stomach, connected to a breathing apparatus, was my grandmother.

After reconnecting for a bit, she asked me the question I knew was burning in her mind... "What did your father tell you about your mother?"

8/

I recalled the burglary story. After a long pause, my grandma exchanged glances with my aunt (remember I just met her). She said "No. That's not what happened."

She shared with me how 2 weeks prior to my mother's death, she witnessed an argument between my mother & father.

9/

She explained that my mother was threatening to take me away from my father. She said she witnessed my father say "If you do, I'll kill you."

2 weeks later she was found dead, stabbed 27 times.

10/

Now my father had a bad habit of beating women. I'd witnessed it quite a bit growing up. But, he never laid a finger on me - not even to spank - and I always wondered why.

In that moment, I had a flash of a particular session where he was beating my stepmom in the kitchen.

11/

They were screaming like usual, and I *think* he grabbed a knife at one point. She said "Do it. DO IT!" I was utterly confused.

He said "I did it before, and I'll do it again!" For me, more confusion, but not unusual for these scenes.

Suddenly - I understood that exchange.
12/

My grandmother proceeded to explain to me that the murder weapon was never found, and my mother being German, and my Father being black (they met after Vietnam war), and it being the 70's in Texas - not much attention was paid by authorities to the situation.

13/

A couple months later, my maternal grandmother died from that cancer.

She didn't believe in God, and I was aiming to be a youth pastor at the time. I was so very sad about it all.

When I returned home, I confronted my father.

He didn't deny it. I moved out the next day.

14/

When I share this story - at this point my audience falls into 2 camps. The statists, and everyone else. Statists always believe that he should be punished, and that I should have gone to the police immediately.

I ask that you allow me to live my life how I choose, please.

15/

I knew that for me, there would be no justice nor recourse in dedicating any portion of my life to punishing him. My punishment was cutting him out of my life, raising a family, & prohibiting him from seeing his grandchildren.

16/

Many statists & leftists will say I had "a responsibility to society." To them I ask - and what did "society" do for me, in this case, that I need to repay? I had already had a gun pulled on me by a Minnesota cop for having a pencil in my pocket during a traffic stop.

17/

I have "paid debts to society" (been jailed) for 1) driving w/o insurance (they wanted $800 a month minimum when I moved out at 17, the fines were cheaper), and 2) assault (for one of my dad's bar fights (I'm a Jr.)) So, perhaps you can imagine my distaste for "society".

18/

So now, every mother's day - I reflect on this life. This life that my dead mother gave me. I have grown to love her as much as I can, and I believe that she loves me too.

I hope you appreciate your mother, on this mother's day, especially if she is alive. #HappyMothersDay
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