My father died in a car accident when I was 6 years old. My mother began a relationship shortly after he died with a man who ended up being addicted to drugs and eventually left with all of the settlement money from my dad’s death.
The second man my mother met was physically abusive to her but she loved him and continued to stay in the relationship. When I was 11 years old he began to sexually abuse me. I told my mother what was happening but instead of confronting him or asking him to leave she began to beat me regularly and forced me to go out alone with him.
The abuse went on for about 2 years and during this time he also began to physically abuse all of us, not just my mother and I but my older brother and little sister. My mother continued to allow him hurt us. He constantly harassed and intimated us and we feared to call the cops on him.
It all came to a head when I was 13.
That day he beat my little sister and broke her neck, she became paralyzed for life. While my sister was in the hospital, I found the courage to report the abuse to the authorities. There was enough evidence to put him away but my mother corroborated his story that there was no abuse going on and my sister had fallen off the stairs while skating. My older brother had run away from home at that time so I was on my own. My mother and her partner made me look like a liar. To make matters worse, she married him while my sister was lying there in the hospital bed.
When my grandparents asked her why she continued to stay with such an abusive man, she shocked them with her response. She chose to stay with him because the ‘sex was good’. My sister and I were sent to live with our grandparents and life went on from there.
For years I carried hate in my heart for my mother. I could never understand why she allowed us to hurt so much. I couldn’t speak to her and I couldn’t see her without all the pain from my childhood coming up. My grandparents and I severed every link we had with her and we never heard from her again.
Six years ago, I became a Christian and joined a prison outreach ministry. One day, we were visiting the women’s prison when I saw my mother. She was an inmate in the prison. I saw a broken woman who was incacerated for chopping off her husband’s manhood and feeding it to the dogs. I saw a woman who had made bad decisions and lived with the guilt every day of her life. I saw a lonely, old woman.
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A few months earlier, I had stumbled on an article on the internet. It took a while for me to put the pieces together before I realise that the story was actually about my older brother. He went by many aliases and had become a notorious gang leader who was wanted by the cops. He was infact on the list of the top ten most wanted criminals in the state where he lived. I always believed that one day I would see my brother again…but not in a body bag. Seeing a picture of my brother in a body bag broke my heart to pieces. I was deeply hurt.
Now, here I was standing face to face with the architect of all our misfortune. My mother looked like a shadow of herself. She looked gaunt and miserable. All the hate I carried in my heart for her gave way to pity. She looked way older than her age and had this far away look in her eyes, you could tell that she was tired…maybe tired of life. She slowly walked towards me with tears pouring down eyes face as she fell before me and cried as she asked for forgiveness.
Forgiveness is such a crazy thing. Someone hurts you so much, you hurt and live with the pain for a long time and you’re expected to forgive the person in an instant.
I had questions for my mother.
She knew where my grandparents lived, why didn’t she ever come to look for us? She knew that her youngest child was paralyzed, why did she ever come to see her? If I did not walk into that prison, what forgiveness would she be asking for? I had questions and I needed answers but what difference will it make.
It was a difficult thing to do but I knew I had to let it go. I had to let go of the pain and the hurt. I had to forgive my mother. I pulled her up in an embrace and told her that she was forgiven. At that moment, it felt as if a heavy burden was lifted off my chest. I felt like a different person and I could see a little spark in her eyes that wasn’t there before. As I walked out of the prison that day, it hit me that I had been imprisoned by unforgiveness for a very long time and I had just gained my freedom. Holding on to the pains from the past also held me captive but I was free..
When my team visited the prison a few months later, I asked to see my mother and was told that she died in her sleep the night before. I didn’t even know how to feel. One thing was certain, I was glad that I forgave her.
I wonder what was going through her mind in her last moments. I’m sure she had regrets. She must have thought about turning the hands of time and going back in time to make things right.
I tried to find out what took my mother to prison and I made a startling discovery. She had another daughter after my sister and I left to live with our grandparents. One day she walked in on her husband sexually abusing her little daughter. She held her rage till he wanted to have sex with her later, that’s when she pulled out a knife and castrated him.
My mother lived her life and now she’s gone, I don’t want to be like her on my dying bed filled with regrets about things I should have done. For this reason, I have a duty to find my little sister no matter how hard or how long it might take. Things could have been different if only my mother had done the right thing but she chose her path.
She chose pleasure over family.
