This time the thing that stood out was giving Mariska her liquid Tylenol and Ibuprofen EVERY three hours, since her surgery. I do it gladly and know that it makes her feel better, I have been through I can not even tell you how many bottles of liquid medicine in the last week, I should consider buying stock but if it took my last few dollars I would make sure that she had that liquid medicine to make her feel better. For me that was an issue growing up. I was getting older and I couldn't swallow pills. NO matter how hard that I tried, I just couldn't. Believe me I tried oh so hard, I wanted to do the right thing, make everyone happy. Each and every time I would gag and get sick. I needed the liquid, or in my case I think it was the chew-able kind. Those things tasted terrible, but it was doable. I can remember being really sick and having to take them, and of coarse the older a child gets the more chew-able's that they need. So I was older, and needed more to help me feel better and that was a problem. For my father that was a HUGE problem. He was going to teach me.
I can still picture the kitchen, the sliding glass doors, the kitchen table with vinyl seats. The brown cabinets I remember it looking huge and feeling really small. I wasn't much taller than the counter really, I could barely reach the sink, that is for sure. I see it as clear as my computer in front of me. The entire family was there, me, my brother ,mother and father. My parents were arguing, over me and the medicine. My brother just standing there, until I am sure he disappeared to his room. And I see it all like it was yesterday, I wasn't feeling good and I am sure that made it worse. The arguing because I was costing him too much money in chew-able's and that I needed to learn how to swallow pills. Well I tried, and of coarse, I couldn't. I was crying, I was more than sorry, it was just something that I couldn't do. I wasn't wanting to make him mad, but I did merely by breathing. He was getting angrier and angrier until he decided that he was going to teach me to swallow pills. Oh the look on his face, his eyes, they were little and mean and he didn't care what he had to do to get me to swallow those pills. He was on a mission. He made me climb on the dining room table, and with his scratchy nails, he tried shoving pills down my throat. He tried more than once, each time just as unsuccessful as the one before.The scene was not pretty , I tried so hard and my body wouldn't let me swallow those pills there was just no way. He scratched my throat, I was crying hard, finally he let me down off the table. A monster of a man.
It was that moment when everything stops, and I remember him finally letting go of me, and climbing off the table and being able to run to my room. He was more than angry, my throat was proof of that. I am sure that in those moments he hated me. In front of the family making me crawl onto the table and lay down so he could teach me how to swallow pills. And there was a quick moment that I was proud of myself. As soon as I got to my room, I spit the pill into my hand and put it on my dresser. In that moment it was a small victory, i wanted more than anything to make him happy but for me, he couldn't make me and I was glad. Then I just cried in my bed. I felt terrible, I was costing him too much money, I was more than sorry. I wanted to make things easier for my father but I couldn't. I was more than embarrassed, more than ashamed, I wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out. I couldn't even swallow pills right. I blamed myself for him making my climb on the table and trying to shove the pills down my throat. Who feels bad ? I did, it was my fault I couldn't swallow the pills.
One of those moments that is burned in my memory, that I will never forget. And it still makes me sad. I am not sure that it will ever go away, but it will be less painful. I never got the kindness that I so needed. But I can give that to my own children and there is something amazing and fulfilling in that . I know that I made it through , and made things easier on my own children. He was so very angry. Where was my mother letting him do that, I will never understand so many things. I can never imagine doing that to my children. So as Mariska continues to need the liquid medicine, I gladly pour her some more, and my heart smiles a little more. I notice the bottle is getting low and make another trip to get some more. That makes me happy. I can not change what has happened to me, but i can make things for my children better than i ever had.
These kind of memories never go away, but they will fade. I have to believe that EVENTUALLY they will. And I can rest in knowing that my own children will never have to experience so many of the things that were in my everyday. Being a mom is one of the things I do with all my heart and until the end of the world I will make sure that they are safe and sound and that they know, forever and always that I love them so very much. And am grateful they are filling my garden with new memories.
I heart your heart.
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