Mirrors

My father was the town drunk and my mother the town whore. As hard as that is to admit, it was the only truth I knew. His excuse was “shell shock” from the Korean war, hers was she did what she had to do. His beatings were brutal and always blamed on the alcohol. Her “male friends” were blamed on his alcoholism. His physical abuse on me was because “he loved me.” Her mental abuse was because “she never wanted a girl.” When he came home it was to pass out. When she came home it was to introduce a new “uncle.” When he beat her to put her in the hospital it was “ because she had it coming.” When she didn’t fight back it was because “that’s just what women do.” Her throwing him out then always taking him back was “undying love.” Him losing the house in a poker game was “his drinking buddy cheated.” At the tender age of ten, when he took his own life, I was somehow strangely relieved. When she died I was 36 and with that death I hoped I could forget my traumatic childhood. I was wrong.When I looked in the mirror, she was all I could see.

Being an unwanted, unloved child will follow me forever. I vowed to be nothing like her as I was growing up. I would make sure of it. All my adult life I have done everything possible to change that look in the mirror. Make up/ no make up, haircuts, dye jobs, losing weight, gaining weight. Nothing worked. Everytime I would pass by a mirror she was there staring back. After some time, I just stopped looking into any mirror. I even stopped having my picture taken. Convinced that if I didn’t see her I wouldn’t be her. I would strive to be everything that was good and kind and loving. Became a fiercely loving mom 6 times over and did everything for my children that she had never done for me. I loved my children without reservation and unconditionally. No I wasn’t perfect but I did my best. It wasn’t always easy but I was determined. I guess I too did what I had to do.

I have always told people that some mirrors contain the spirits of the dead. Ghosts of those who never really left this realm. The last thing that was seen in the mirror imprints that image for eternity.That being said, my mirrors all held the ghost of her. Perhaps that is why I dislike them so much. Seeing her image only reminds me of the trauma. The childhood I didn’t ask for but was given. I couldn’t get past the face or the feelings. As hard as I try to forget, a reflection somewhere, even for a quick glance, reminds me. I swore and still do, that my past will never determine my future. Yet it does, doesn’t it?

My past will always be a part of me and has everything to do with how I am now and how I will be in the future. That childhood was the building block base for all that I would be. I would gain my strength from it and build upon it. Stumbling along the way, building it the way I wanted to. I could have repeated her mistakes but did not. I learned from that past to be strong but sensitive, kind and not cruel, loving and compassionate but firm. I learned what it takes to stand up for myself and my beliefs. I learned about undying love and how to hold on to it without the pain. I learned how to love myself and how to forgive myself. So now, when I look in a mirror, although I still see her image, I know undeniably that I may see her but I am not and have never been her!

Love G.