“Dropped” - A preview...
As a young girl of eight years, my mother left me in Central America and came to the United States. I wanted her to leave me with my aunt or my uncle and their families, but they were unable to keep me. Therefore, my mother left me with a woman who had five children – three older girls and two younger boys. They treated me very badly. I was forced to do the house and yard work and was beaten when it was not done to their satisfaction. I had welt marks all over my body from the beatings. I was in constant physical and emotional pain. In addition, I was forced to wear tattered clothes and her daughter’s hand-me-downs. My life was so dreadful that I would have welcomed Cinderella’s life with her wicked stepmother. After two years of pain and suffering and the feeling of being unloved and unwanted, I ran away. I sneaked out one evening and hid under the house.
The house was about two feet off the ground and had an assortment of garbage, snakes, and other creatures living under it. I sat there quietly in the pitch dark while they looked for me. I could hear them calling “Gee!” until finally they gave up the search and went back into the house. It never occurred to them to look under the house, and I remained there until daybreak. I remember feeling the mosquitoes, insects, and other animals crawling over me. I was terrified and equally determined that I was not going back into that house. More than anything else, I remember the pain of wanting to be with my mother and the anger I felt toward her for leaving me with those terrible people.
I knew that my uncle drove past the house every morning, and that he would honk the horn as he drove by on his way to work. Although I was never allowed to go out to see him, hearing the horn honk and knowing that it was my uncle gave me a sense of being connected to someone who was not a part of my pain. That morning when I heard him honk the horn, I came out from under the house and ran out into the street screaming for him to stop. He saw me just in time to stop the car short of running me over. I collapsed. I was physically wounded, as well as scared and filthy when he picked me up. As he returned to his car, the family came out and tried to take me back, but my uncle held me securely in his arms. As he put me in the car, I lost consciousness. Later when I awoke, I was with my aunt and her family. I had been washed and my wounds were dressed. Outside I could hear the commotion as my legal guardian demanded that I be returned to her. My aunt and uncle, at the risk of being charged with kidnapping, refused to give me back to her. They took care of me until they were able to contact my mother in the United States. Without giving her all the details, they told her that they wanted me to stay with them. My mother agreed, and I remained with my aunt until my mother sent for me. I still recall those two years as a time when I felt safe and secure.
I was 12 years old when I was reunited with my mother in New York City. I expected that everything would be fine once I was with her, but it wasn’t. Although I was happy to be with my mother, a part of me was still hurting because I believed that she had abandoned me, and I was angry with her. During the years that followed, I acted out doing everything that I thought would upset my mother. I skipped school, stayed out late, started drinking and smoking, and made many bad choices. I was not happy with any of the consequences of my actions, but knowing that my mother was also unhappy made me continue. I dropped out of high school and went to work. I married and got pregnant immediately. My marriage was marred by violence. I suffered from chronic bouts of depression that bordered on suicide. I left my husband after my son was born, but not before I lost my self-respect and self-esteem. Consequently, I became a party girl and embraced a lifestyle of parties, sex, and alcohol.
At the age of 26, while in the midst of an emotional breakdown—no doubt brought on by excess, a neighbor took me to my mother’s home. When Mom opened the door, I grabbed her and hugged her, all the while crying and screaming, “Why didn’t you love me?” She was stunned. That night we sat at her table, and for the first time, we really talked about what was going on between us. I asked her, “Why did you abandon me?” Without waiting for an answer, I rambled on for hours about the horrible things I had suffered after she left. I accused her of sending for my stepfather before sending for me. I accused her of leaving me and not sending money to care for me, forcing me to work for my keep. It was well into the night by the time I finished. I was spent. My mother sat and listened to every word I spat out at her.
Then she said, “I didn’t know.”
Then Mother told me her story.