Notebook of solace

I’m laying down in bed wondering when she’s going to come into my room. Right now, she’s smoking, sniffing, and drinking, she’s so high she’s stomping as if she can’t see where the ground stops. When she does finally come in, she doesn’t hit me, she never has, instead she says “Kahyler don’t be afraid to dream above what you see on the streets”. I said “yes mam” because momma don’t like to feel unheard, so I listened as she went on and on about how the streets offer you no love. I eventually began dosing off waking up occasionally to say, “yes mam”.

The next morning, I woke up put on a pair of jeans a white t-shirt and some scuffed up Nikes daddy had bought me before he disappeared. I cleaned up my room and peeked out the door momma was sound asleep in her room. I looked around the living it was filthy everywhere I looked there was a different type of drug laying around. I grabbed the cleaning supplies and quietly began cleaning up.

Before I came my mommas, life wasn’t like this, she was in school to be a doctor and happily married. She used to tell me stories of how she has OCD and cleaned nonstop (you couldn’t tell looking at the living now) and my dad would play the piano for her as she cleaned. My dad played almost any instrument you could think of and often played at a bar in town to get money.

My parents were happy and had little worries, but when I came along everything went downhill. The bar relocated out of town and with momma in school, daddy was the only source of income. Money became very tight, I needed clothes, diapers, bottles, and more. It became too much, and momma had to give up her dream of being a doctor to get a job. She worked as a waiter at two different cafes. Money began coming in, but not nearly enough to pay the bills, take care of me, and themselves.

My dad tried desperately to get a job but with only a high school diploma jobs were scarce, and no one needed the extra help. Years passed and this never changed, so by the time I was three the stress became too much for momma and she began taking drugs, daddy soon followed. Somedays they got so high, they forgot that they had a child that could do nothing for herself.

One day my auntie came over bussing through the door. I was screaming nonstop with a bloated belly, momma and daddy were wasted on the couch. My auntie often tells me the story of how she fed me two bottles and oatmeal before she rocked me to sleep. When I woke up my parents were no longer together. My dad was in and out of my life from there and by the time I was seven he had stop showing up.

“Drugs don’t care about who you are or who you used to be” momma says before she smokes, after she sniffs, and while she’s drinking. I finished cleaning and made me and momma some eggs and bacon. When I finished, I went and took it to momma, “mama… mama” she woke up saying “be better than me baby be better”. I smiled and moved momma’s little black notebook and sat her plate in its place.

She looked at me tiredly “that book is the only thing keeping me together, if something happens to me protect this book with all that you have”. I said “yes mam” shrugging off what she said and lifting her up to eat.

When she was done, I gave her a cup of water and tucked her back in bed. She fell asleep quickly saying over and over “be better than me baby, be better”. I smiled at her as I went to go eat my food because I knew momma was simply thanking me.

There wasn’t much to do afterwards so I went and got mommas notebook and began reading it. I call it her prayer book because it’s a little black notebook that has scriptures in it and no matter how high or drunk, she was, she curled up with that book every night and prayed. Auntie says it was my great grandmas’ book and she was the one who’d wrote the scriptures and prayed over the book like momma. I tried my best to understand the little book, it was ancient, and the words within it confused me. Who would think to write down quotes in a little notebook? Regardless of that I tried my best to understand it because I wanted to know what momma felt. I fell asleep on the book as momma do at night and I must say that words must have held a lot of power, because what I seen when I woke up was something only God could do.

Momma was up and she was loud. I was curled up in my bed and jumped up instantly when I heard a loud thud, momma was up cleaning, eyes wide, pretty dress and smiling. “Well, hey there” she said “hey momma” I said in a concerned way, momma hadn’t really spoken in years, it was always little phrases from the time daddy left until now.

I didn’t know what was going on, but I liked it momma was cooking, dancing, and smiling ear to ear……. I should’ve known something was wrong, but how could I? I should’ve asked questions, but what would I have even asked?

Momma cooked potatoes, broccoli, and chicken but she didn’t eat instead she watched me eat. She watched me rake my plate, put the leftovers in aluminum foil and wash dishes. When I was done, she grabbed my hand and began praying.

“Lord, I come to you today to ask you for forgiveness I have taken motherhood for granted and lost all dignity in myself. God, I know that you see me for what I am and know that I tried but lord I’m afraid that I’m too late, everyday is a new struggle, but I’ve held on as long as I could… she said whimpering. God, please watch over my baby, let her feel your presence, lead her in Jesus name I pray amen.”

I was confused and questioned every word momma had said. Momma was crying so bad I began crying wishing that daddy was here to hug us and tell us it’ll all be alright. I slept with momma that night, she sobbed and cried all for hours and hours.

Laying there my thoughts surrounded me asking a billion questions, I was sad for momma but didn’t know how to comfort her. I just laid there imagining the pain she felt, the stress weighing her down, and looking back I wonder why her dying never crossed my mind.

The next morning momma was dead. We had no phone so I couldn’t call anyone, and without a second thought I ran, I ran to my auntie who lived 15 mins away and I didn’t stop until I was at her door. I was tired, crying pitifully and unable to breathe. My auntie took one look at me and began calling the police and close family instantly and just like that my life had turned all the way around. I was delirious my head wouldn’t stop spinning, I didn’t understand what happened and the day only worsened. When arriving at the hospital everyone was there grandma, papa, even my dad who I hadn’t seen in years was there and all I could do was hope that I was wrong about momma, but when taken to a cold room with a covered body on a steel table… I knew.

I ran to momma I grabbed her shoulders and yelled at her. “wake up momma” I cried “wake up”. I screamed till my lungs hurt, cried till my shoulder shook, but momma didn’t wake up. The doctor came and told us momma had died from an overdose and just like that everything in me shattered.

I now had no momma and daddy “wasn’t capable of raising me” according to the social worker. I was crying, snotty nosed and yelled at my grandparents because they wouldn’t allow me to live with them and my auntie felt id be a burden. But how could they treat me like that, how could I be a burden? In the mist of it all “What had I done wrong?” was the only thing that came out of my mouth, but deep down I knew they blamed me, not momma, daddy, or the drugs that she probably wouldn’t have taken if she hadn’t had me. They blamed me because momma didn’t have a doctorate degree. They blamed me for momma and daddy’s divorce. They blamed me for living, I’m alive … mommas dead and whose fault is that? Mine.

That’s how I became a foster child with 20,000 dollars from her mother’s life insurance, that couldn’t be accessed until the age of 18. I only packed mommas little black notebook, two shirts, some pants, and my scuffed Nikes to my new home. My new home full of racist people who considered me to be a low life. And after a few weeks I was used to not being looked at, used to having to use a paper towel to open things, use to eating off of plastic ware as they ate on fine china, use to sitting on the floor as they sat on the couch, and use to crying myself to sleep, praying and blaming myself for everything to me living while mommas dead to me now sleeping on a cold floor with no pillow or blanket in the same clothes I came here in three weeks ago.