first I was reluctant and uneasy due to fear. I had never seen anyone in this physical state before. Al resembled a skeleton with skin. After helping him with a couple sips of water, he quietly started talking to me and thanked me before I left.
The following day at school a weird, cold, sickening sensation went through my body. My teacher stopped the class.
“Laura, you’re very pale, Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I responded. I knew Al was dead.
Right after school, I headed to the hospital to verify what I already knew.
“Al’s dead; he died this afternoon,” Kevin informed me, as I walked into his room.
At fourteen years old, I attended the same school Mother taught at. After running into debt, she took on a second job, returning home after midnight on a regular basis. A normal day consisted of going to school, doing homework, watching my siblings, cleaning, and cooking. On the weekends I worked at McDonalds. I often corrected Mother’s classroom assignments, which she was behind on.
I was a very sensitive, shy, insecure teenager, but responsible and dependable. Mother was a very moody, controlling, angry, violent person.
One evening she happened to be home, which was rare. After supper I was helping her with the dishes. She started questioning me about school. Suddenly she became irate, while I was answering her, she kicked me. For the first time in my life, I retaliated. I kicked her back. She punched me. I punched her back. Next, she tripped me and pinned me to the floor, her hands wrapped tightly around my neck with both thumbs in my Adam’s apple. She was choking me to the point that I couldn’t breathe. I could no longer struggle. Everything in my vision went black. I silently prayed to God asking him to take me to heaven. I was on the verge of passing out when she finally let go.
“Get up! Get up now!” she demanded.
I gradually sat up, which was not fast enough for her. I was weak after what she had done to me. She picked me up by my hair and threw me into the concrete hallway wall.
After being abused for many years, I’d had enough of the fat lips which bled, pulled hair, welts, punches, and kicks. The situation worsened as time went on. The week before, the family physician threatened to report her to Social Services, after pushing one of my siblings down the stairs during a fit of rage. I wasn’t the only child she hurt.
Years later, I found out that my aunt mentioned her concern to my grandmother about my Mother’s abusive ways towards me.
I waited until the next morning. I told the school principal what had happened. Mother was immediately paged to the office. I was sent to class.
After school my mother was in a rush.
“We have an appointment with a psychiatrist this afternoon to get you assessed. I was called down to the office this morning by the principal. My job was on the line. I denied everything. He told me to get you help. To lie about being abused is very serious.”
This led to an immediate psychiatric assessment with hospitalization.
During the assessment I never spoke of what happened. I didn’t need anything else bad to happen to me. Ten days later I was released. Mother was told I was fine. The assessment provided didn’t suit her, she wanted me medicated. Right away, Mother attempted to find another psychiatrist, one who would listen to her.
After interviewing several doctors she found one. Now she wanted medical possibilities ruled out. She talked to the doctor without me. I sat in the waiting room picking up the negative vibes. Then I would go in to speak with him next.
“Your mother says you see things. Is this true?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother says you hear sounds. Is that true?
“Yes.”
“She says sometimes you get upset and cry when you feel something bad is going to happen. You complain about being cold and tasting something awful. These could be signs that something is wrong with your brain.
“Your mother wants you tested for epilepsy. You’ll have to stay in the hospital for awhile. If I find something wrong with you, there is medicine to make it better.”
I really wanted to tell on her, but I didn’t dare. The night before the test, I wasn’t allowed to sleep. In the morning my head was hooked up to electrodes. Then both sides of my jaws were frozen with a needle. Wires were inserted through my jaws to the base of my brain. I cried in pain. I could hear and feel the wires being forced through my head. Days later, the results came back as normal. Other medical tests were performed including a CAT scan of my brain. Again the results were normal.
The following day, I was playing the piano at the hospital. Suddenly, I tasted cold rotting vegetation. This was the taste of death. I saw my grandpa enclosed in a circle. I’d better call my mother and tell her to watch out for Grandpa.
“Hi,”
“Mom”
“Yes?”
“Something bad is going to happen to Grandpa. He’s going to die.”
“Your Grandfather is fine. He’s just come back from holidays. Goodbye.”
Days later, I was released without medication. Again she was told I was fine.
Hours after I was sent home, I started to feel uneasy. The premonition of my grandfather’s death started to gradually unfold throughout the evening. My grandfather was an alcoholic and he was drunk. He was out driving around, after threatening to do himself in. Many phone calls were received and placed in regards to his whereabouts. Family members were out looking for him. I knew he wasn’t going to survive the night. I prayed to God to spare his soul.
In the morning, someone came over to inform mother of his passing. I hadn’t heard the news, but I already knew. Right away mother burst into my bedroom with a bottle of pills and a glass of water.
“Laura, I need you to take this pill,” she insisted.
“Yesterday the doctor at the hospital told you I was Þ ne, before sending me home. He told you I didn’t need to be medicated. Why are you doing this to me?”
“These are my valium pills. You need to take one of these or else,” she threatened.
I held out my hand. Mother handed me a pill and the glass of water. Mother was out of it. I wondered if she had taken one of these pills herself.
“I’ll be back in awhile.” She stated.
I waited for her to leave my room, before throwing the pill in the garbage.
After a while she returned to my room. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Fine,” I answered.
“Are you a little sleepy and relaxed?” She inquired.
“Yes,” I replied.
“I’m glad you took that pill, because I have bad news for you. Your grandfather is dead. He returned home last night, pulled his car into
