As Told By: I think My Dad Killed My Mom

Spring 1970 something, there was shift in the air. I came from the average two parent household, an older brother, average working dad and housekeeper mom. Some people always say that growing up in a two-parent household is beneficial to children but for me it was odd. There was a strange disconnect in the family. My dad was the manager of a car garage but there were no car repair shops within 2 miles of where we lived, and he always left late. My mother spent a lot of time with friends and came home and did chores. Until later on, we've never really seen our grandparents.

Mom sort of went through a mid-life crisis I guess and kicked up a drinking habit. Mom started working full-time at the perfume department of SEARS, the strange part was that she would come home later and later. At first it was light stuff, 11:00pm after a couple of weeks it went to 3:00am the worst part was mom was a bad liar and had some guy in a white Chevy bring her home every time. This led to arguments that spilled into every day. I don't know what came over mom, but she became a full-blown problem drinker, she would start her day off with some red wine she would pour into my brother's Scooby Doo Christmas mug. she gets on the phone and call one of my aunts who would always scold her for calling early and not realizing the time.

My older brother and I took advantage of her drunkenness one morning and decided to go play in the neighbors' backyard where there is sort of a Lazy River a couple of miles from. We get up at about 7:30 we pack our little adventure bag filled with rope, comics, almost expired cookies and chips from school and a flashlight. We sneak passed mom who what we thought she would be doing drinking her wine with the phone cord wrapped around her not really talking about anything. Once my brother and I touched down outside we felt like super spies and made our way to the neighbor's backyard which was easy since the neighbors were old, so they woke up at 11:00am. (Don't ask how I knew that)

My brother and I walked from the neighbor's backyard which transformed into some neck of the woods, we felt like level 1000 adventure men. After walking around, we found the lazy river that felt like treasure for us. We've been gone for around an hour doing kids of 70s type shit. My brother who was always a shock value kind of kid decides to jump in the lazy river from the tree. Of course me being a kid with no sense of caution, I egg my brother on not realizing the river is shallow and the height of the branch was actually pretty high. "c'mon man!" I say to my brother. He boldly jumps off the branch and into the river. Suddenly and I'm still haunted by the sound, I hear a high-pitched blood-curdling scream that bounced off of the tree and rang my ears. I looked behind me thinking a woman behind me was getting attacked. My brother screams my name and I run towards him.

I run not evening feeling my feet touch the ground over to the brother lying in the river with a bone sticking out of his leg! My heart starts beating and tears flow from eyes. Another part of the bone was sticking out somewhere else. I told my brother to keep his head up out the water. I ran over to my mother who this time was slumped out on the couch with a cigarette in her hand and clean laundry spread out everywhere. I explained to her what happened, and I wanted to smack the crap out of her, she was so drunk she couldn't comprehend what happened, I called 911 and run back to my brother. 

Long story short we're at the hospital in the waiting room area. My brother needed surgery on his leg. My dad shows up, burley tall man and yells to the top of his lungs in my mother's face scaring the doctors and nurses. "I don't know why you're yelling it's the kid's fault." facing me and she said it nonchalantly. I'm looking around the room and wondering if anyone could recognize the level of delusion.

The next morning an almost elderly woman with white, blonde hair, wearing a suit and holding a bunch of books and a clipboard show up. My dad aggressively asks her what she wants, sort of knowing who she is and what she's here for. The old lady explains she's part of Child Protective Services and she was here to do a simple checkup. Mom actually had a good day and didn't drink; it was as if the dysfunction disappeared the house was clean and brother was upstairs sleeping, healing his leg. She asked a bunch of questions like what school I went to.

The CPS lady then turns to my mother and asks her what grades my brother and I were getting. My mother paused and looked at me waiting for me to speak up. I didn't. I wanted mom to answer, she didn't. The CPS lady wrote something down. Dad speaks up and says "something like A's and B's right son?" he asked, I nodded my head but it was too late they already looked guilty. Then the CPS lady asked my dad where he worked "I'm a manager for a car repair shop sometimes mechanic" dad says "I asked where you work" she said sternly "in town" again dad giving a vague evasive sounding answer. The CPS lady writes something else down on the notepad "and you?" she asks my mother "SEARS" she says lighting a cigarette and sort of not caring. "the neighbors say you come home late, right?" the CPS lady was on her toes with us. 

THE TRIP

Dad had the day off from his mysterious job and my brother was getting used to walking around in crutches. We're sitting in the Livingroom while mom is folding laundry, dad brings up camping, something I was excited about because I loved the outdoors but the look on my mom's face was disgusted. Mom had those looks on her face often like she was sick of us, she probably was. Dad explained that we needed to do things as a family more often. He explained that we need to get in touch with our ancestors, sort of insinuating that we have indigenous roots something that he never bought up before. My brother and I were excited, mom already called the school to let them know we weren't coming in Thursday and Friday.

At this point our small red car is packed up with cloths and bags, dad bought a tent and regular Ol' camping equipment. I couldn't fully enjoy the trip because something about it felt so forced like there was an ulterior motive. Like I said before, my parents were pretty disconnected, so going on a trip together made me nervous, what were we going to talk about? what were we gonna do? I just didn't understand the whole thing and what was mom gonna do? all she liked to do was work, drink and spend time with that guy that drops her off. It was a long ride and I saw parts of town that I never saw before. We stop at the woods, and it was beautiful, it was mid-afternoon, so we had time to set up camp and get going with some other activities. 

We settle ourselves down near a lake, yes that is theme here. a giant wooded area and a big lake in the middle. we were surrounded by mountains that almost looked blue and tall oak trees that kind of smelled sweet, like that pine smell. For a moment, I imagined myself as my supposed Indian ancestors, my 11-year-old self-imagined that our blue tent was a tipi and my dad was a chief, I told my brother he could be a wounded warrior since his leg was still healing. Nobody really seemed to be in good spirits, and it seemed like such a bad time to go camping, it was still spring so there was still a chill in the air, my brother's leg was healing, and mom was still a drunk.

My parents set their little chairs near the lake while my brother and I sat behind them. I guess we weren't in the adventure mood. My brother was toiling around with some rock and me being me, my snoopy self was observing things. Dad tried to be cute with mom, but she kept pulling herself away and trying to sit in silence. They bickered for a moment. "c'mon let's go for a walk" dad says as he stands up with his hand out, this time speaking with a demanding tone, sort of telling her but not actually telling her. Mom turns around to look at us, per usual she assumes well be okay - which we do always turn out fine. She reluctantly gets up, but before they go off on their little walk, dad goes to the cooler and grabs wine. 

The night starts to fall a little and my brother and I try to distract ourselves from the nervousness of our parents being gone for too long. We decided to walk around a little bit and bird watch. We successfully found a blue jay fly across from us, we try to follow it, but it was too much for my brother's crutches. "Do you remember where mom and dad were going?" my brother asked me "no" I nervously said "they sort of went that way" I added pointing to a little trail between these two trees. It looked a little sketchy since it was getting close to nighttime, and we didn't want to get lost.

The nervousness started to rise in my body as crickets started to chirp. My brother and I decided to walk back towards the car where we clearly remembered was parked near the entrance, maybe we could find help if we walked safely among the freeways. Right as we start making our way towards that direction, dad comes out of nowhere breathing heavy and sweating with franticness in his eyes. "where's your mom?!" he asked "we don't know" my brother and I say simultaneously with the same nervous tone in our voice, we both turn to look at each other. "she said she came back here" dad said, with his big meaty hands, grabs both of our skinny arms and we sped walk to the car.

For some reason my dad turned on the radio and I could remember it was a random song with no lyrics just all over the place guitar riffs. "Dad, are we going to get help for mom?" my brother finally speaks up. My dad's eyes were angry as he looked in the rearview mirror. I looked around and noticed we were going in the same direction we entered in. After an hour we get back to the house and dad goes straight to the phone, my brother and I stand with him as he calls the police. "Yeah, my wife and I went camping and I can't find her, she stormed off again - she does this a lot!" I saw a tear drop from my brother's hazel eyes and I remain stoic and taking everything in. Some things you just know, and we all knew Mom wasn't coming back, she was gone either she ran away with that guy or was eaten by a bear - but that was it for her. 

Two police officers show up a black guy and another white guy. I will always remember the black guy's eyes were light colored something that I've never seen in African American people before. "Boys upstairs" dad demanded we slowly walk up the stairs to try and eavesdrop, but dad managed to talk quietly. My brother slept in my room that night, something he never did. Before I went to bed I said a little prayer, to God and to mom I was hoping somehow, she would telepathically hear me and get her shit together and come home. I actually stayed up that night and dozed off around 4:50am. I woke up before my brother and walked downstairs in the kitchen where she usually was. It was dad brewing coffee still in the same clothes as the day before. "what did they cops say?" I asked without even saying good morning. "I have to wait 48 hours son" he says while yawing. the phone rings and dad quickly answer.

It was my grandparents who we haven't seen in years "Yeah, hey again" he answered. I could sort of make out the voice. I thought that was strange that my dad would call my mom's parents number one because they lived in another state and number two my mother mentioned in and out that she hated her father because he was always strict. Dad then called my aunt; mom's sister and she was getting frantic too. I sat at the table and while dad was making more calls. "Yeah, that guy you knew him right?" he asked quiter and looking back at me. I'm assuming my aunt said no because my aunt and mom were thick as thieves. "Yeah, because you know-she was not easy to deal with you hear me?" He then added. What did that have to do with anything?

AFTER 48 HOURS 

My brother and I continued going to school with our mother on our mind. After the 48 hours my father put out a missing person's report. He used a picture of her in her youth, high cheeks, brunette hair and blue eyes. She was plastered all over the neighborhood and on milk cartons. Everyone at school knew that our mom was missing was there was always that lingering sympathy in the teacher's disposure. I remember trying to be hopeful and I was, but then I remembered - mom wasn't the runaway type. All of my life when I had her, she was miled mannered, she did things around the house went to work yada yada and sure she picked up a drinking habit that got bad but she was the functioning type you know? 

Delaware investigators came by multiple times asking the same questions, they even interviewed my aunt and grandparents. I guess dad came out clear which I kind of figured because I was a kid and I didn't think my father would do something evil - like kill my mother. I gave up hope and the lingering feeling started to take over. This time I wasn't thinking about if my mother was coming home because it was clear she wasn't, she was presumed dead. I wanted to know what really happened. I hated that I was empathic and sort of knew things were wrong, I just wished I was like my brother who had a basic understanding of things, he was always just knowing that things were what they were, really surface level typed stuff. Anytime anything happened I could always just know when it was what it was, or when it was something deeper. 

I know that mom was not emotionally present, but she was a young 32-year-old woman, a people person, a creative, a sister, daughter, lover, friend. I always thought about how big my dad's hands were compared to my mom's neck, she was a skinny woman. I hated thinking that way, but I couldn't help it once I figured out my father strangled one of his new girlfriend's outside of the bar one New Years night. Again, left home alone dad comes strolling in angry while this 18-year-old walks in crying and covering her neck. 

Over the years I've manned up, got taller and stronger my father and I have gotten into many fist fights. My brother got along with my father well, mainly because he tries to avoid confrontations with him. I don't, I never had respect for him, he's violent, secretive and controlling. The last straw was when his girlfriend a 24-year-old college dropout cokehead moved in and tried to pull rank. One fall evening I come home from my part-time job, I was part of a teen work program and since I was good at math the principal sent me to work at Catholic school as a tutor. 

My brain was already fried when I got home, I noticed the couch that was usually adjacent to the bay windows was stupidly moved near the entrance way of the kitchen. I thought maybe that was my fried brain playing tricks on me, so I moved closer in the house. My mother's pictures of her and her sisters were moved and replaced with pictures of her and my dad in his military uniform. I was fuming and then here she comes with her cracked, low voice (no pun intended) "hey baby!" I started seeing red and there were no filters "why would move those photos of my mom?" I yelled she looked around trying to see if my dad was available to save her. "she's dead right?" she says stuttering looking scared. I grabbed that cigarette out of her hands and threw it in her face "no!" I said while still in denial she's been presumed dead for 10 years at that point. 

I heard loud thumping coming down the stairs and this chick runs into my father's arms. I told her what the truth was "you're gonna be replaced by another junkie anyway, so don't go moving stuff around!" dad doesn't hesitate to storm over to me and we both attack each other "i'm gonna kill you, you piece of shit!" dad put his hands over my neck and tries to suffocate me and in the nick of time my brother and his friends break it up. Blue and red lights start flaring out of the corner of my eyes. Dad then gives me the if you could find better move speech. All I could remember was his statement "I'll kill you" and the blankness I saw in his eyes. 

Thankfully, I was able to emancipate myself at 17 It was kind of a struggle, but it was easy for teenagers to make a living back then. I survived with my wit, natural resourcefulness and honestly - a prayer. Over the years dad went through girlfriends, charges and eventually lost the house. I hate to admit but I was glad that bad things happened to him because he deserved it.

PRESENT DAY

My girls 24 and 18 are playing around on Ancestry.com and my oldest sends me a picture of a young brunette woman alongside another woman. It was my mother in the 50s or 60s. It almost bought a tear to my eyes knowing that the case has now went cold. My oldest sends me another picture, another woman, brown shade, long pigtails holding a baby with those same intense eyes my father has, Sarah Runningbull was her name. Hey, look at that I guess our ancestors were Indian after all. I saved the photos to my camera roll and plan on printing them soon. 

I haven't told my girls about my mother; I sort of lied to them and said she died of cancer. I thought about for many years trying to build a case against my father, but I have no real evidence that he killed her. Even though in my spirit I know he did. I know in my spirit that my father probably blacked out and strangled her to death, I know my dad knew my mom was having an affair with that guy. As years went on and I had children of my own I known two things I would never be aggressive to the people I love, and two my father was an aggressive man with nine lives, he's one of those people who manage to get out of things.

I mean when you think about it, he created a good narrative for my mother. A drunk, depressed overwhelmed, they argued all the time and we got a visit from CPS which adds to credibility to his story. He created a good alibi as well, we go on a family trip my mother is labeled as difficult so she picks a fight and runs off. To police officers and detectives it looks like she probably got lost, got injured and didn't get saved in time. It's looks perfect surface level, but in reality he did the bare minimum to find her. I don't know if maybe it was just the 70s and it was what it was with most cases, but I wish someone casted some sort of doubt, I wish they asked more questions why didn't anyone question my father's violent past even before he was married? 

Part of the reason why I lied about my mother's cause of death is because my girls love their grandfather, he spoils them and tells them stories of the good Ol' times even though it's really violent stories of him in Vietnam or stories of his father being a scamming womanizer. My girls sort of think I'm crazy for being dismissive towards him but they never had to deal with him. I get so annoyed when parents find themselves being sweet to grandchildren which makes it harder to tell the truth about things. 

Sadly, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree with my brother. He's been married three times and jailed for PPP loan scams. He's kept close to my dad only because my dad gives him money here and there. My girls seem to like him too. A few weekends ago I visited my brother, and we go to Applebee's after a few drinks and a satisfying meal I rip the Band-Aid right off. "You think dad got something to do with mom?" I said looking around. My brother took a long time to answer, which was a tall tale sign that he thought about it too.

"He's like 82 years-old he'll go to hell" He says still munching on his Oritenal salad. It felt like a punch in the gut to know that my brother kind of doesn't care. I try to tell my wife and thankfully she believes me. What is that word gaslight? I feel like I'm being gaslight, I feel like my dad is using one of his nine lives, He's getting old, and I want to know how I feel about him and that I know deep down what he's done. I know it's too late but there has to be some sort of Karma. I wanna make sure he gets what he truly deserves. 

I wanna make sure my mother gets what she deserves.