Wednesday, March 28, 2018

Dancing With Darkness


I seem to m to have writer's block when it comes to putting on paper about my aunt, my second mother, Dora. It has been more than two months, and still I seem besieged by an avalanche of horror, nightmares and darkness.

But I will try.
No pictures.
Just black and white.
Stark desolation.

This woman was a professed Christian. An extremely judgmental Christian.


1 Peter 5:8

Keep your mind clear, and be alert. 
Your opponent the devil is prowling around
like a roaring lion as he looks for
someone to devour.


2 Timothy 4::17

But the Lord stood by me and strengthened
me, so that through me the message would be
fully proclaimed, and all the Gentiles would hear it.
So I was delivered from the mouth of the lion.


It took me until I was 35 years old to come to the realization of the Truth, as found in both these scriptures.  The bedrock of rejection and self-loathing was firmly in place - first with my natural mother, and then with Dora.

There were things about her youth, which I heard about as an adult. It made easier to forgive her. I am so thankful  the Lord helped me through that, even though she said and did things against me over and over again, right up to when she died. It wasn't just me who felt her maliciousness, it was other members in the family and her foster children.

Yes.  Foster children.  The State of Michigan declared her an unfit mother and took my sister and me away from her; placed us in an orphanage, then a foster home until we ere once again adopted.  In the meantime, our records were filed with the state Humane Society. Are you surprised?  Well, it is true.  While she went on to foster children, for pay, for the state. Some were special needs children.

How do I describe her?  In her youth she was pretty, with blond hair and blue eyes. Men found her attractive; she always had men.  Yet, her smile never reached her eyes. Her eyes were shrewd and always calculating. She never missed church, yet there was nothing Biblical in her home, nor about her. She was 100% self-serving; if she didn't get something out of a thing, she wanted no part of it.

Harold was her husband, and such a sweet man.  She left him for a hoodlum by the name of Bud.  (I believe tt was she and Bud who took us in the car that rainy night.)  Bud was a small time gangster, who had spent time in prison. My aunt met him while out drinking, while Harold was at work.  I was there. I saw and heard it. Bud was a good looking man, and a dashing dresser.  Harold was a simple blue collar worker, a Christian and a man who adored his wife.  Dora chose Bud. She took us with her, though she had applied for adoption of us with Harold.

Our time together, for two-three years was living in a converted corn crib in the middle of a corn field, on a farm. It was partitioned into three squares: two bedrooms, and a kitchen. We used an outhouse.  We used a pump for water. We used a galvanized tub for a sink. There was no insulation in the house. The room my sister and I shared barely had room for a twin bed. The bed had broken, rusted springs for its base, with a mattress and one sheet. The mattress had a large hole in the middle big enough for a child to fall through; we wrapped our arms around the edge of the mattress to keep from falling through.

The bedroom was dark; black. And we could hear the violence and love making through the thin walls. Bud was a drunk. A bully. A beater of women and men, and children.  And he had a lovely, deeply soft  voice, but Bud was very scary..


ALLIGATORS UNDER MY BED

Bud wanted  nothing to do with sister or me. We moved into the shed at the end of summer, and it was beautiful on the farm. At that time my sister was in kindergarten, and went to a small, one room country schoolhouse about a mile from where we lived.  I would walk with her in the morning, to a grove of pines and watch her go into the school.  We were accompanied by a beautiful Border Collie by the name of Lady.  She, and my sister were anchors in my world. After I left my sister I would head back to the farm, and spend my time with Lady. Eventually I would see Bud's car speed away, and I would head back to the shed. I always hoped he would leave scraps of meal, so I could have something to eat. Dora would always chase me back outside, scolding me for getting dirt on the floors. Sometimes, Dora wouldn't be there; she went with Bud, leaving me at the shed alone.

Lady and I would walk back to the pines and wait for my sisters.  Together we would wander and hope for something to eat, until we got back to the shed. Dora would pull together meager scraps for us, but we were never full.

When Bud returned it was time for them to go out. To bars.. My sister and I sat in the back seat, and were told to lay down on the seats. We were told if we saw any "niggers" (sorry, their words, not mine) we were to drop to the floor of the car, because if "they" saw us they would kill us. We spent many nights like that.

Back at home, every night, Bud would make us go to our room and close the door. We were instructed to say there until they let us out in the morning.  Then through the door we would hear the scraping of something heavy, a creaking door, and heavy treads on the floor. "I've let the alligators out, and if you dare get down from that bed, they will eat you up!"

Every night I heard those words, terror filled my heart. I was so little! What if I accidentally fell through the mattress?  I wrapped my arms tight around the mattress, each night and held on for dear life. I would weep and ask God to protect me. If I dozed off, I would awaken with a start, my heart beating fast in terror.

To this day I have dreams about sliding down embankments into alligator pits.



I find I am unable to write any more today.  I will continue this in another, edited writing of this segment.


DEUTERONOMY 31:21

And when many evils and troubles have come upon them,
[the doers and planers of evil] this song shall confront them as a
witness (for it will live unforgotten in the mouths of their
offspring). For I know what they are inclined to do..


MATTHEW 10:19-20

Do not worry about what to say or how to say it. At that time
you will be given what to say, for it will not be you speaking. but
the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.




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