Cheri’s Story

My Mommy died when I was 8 years old.  The timing of her death means she is forever Mommy and not whatever name that would have progressed to as I aged.  She actually disappeared from my life when I was 7 because she attempted suicide with carbon monoxide.  She lived with brain damage for a year or so after in a state hospital.  Her five children were not allowed to visit her so she just disappeared - poof. 

My paternal grandmother came to stay with us and life went on.  My father regularly visited her but I don’t remember what we were told.  I do know that the weekend day that the wall phone rang before anyone got up, that I quickly prayed “Don’t let it be Mommy”.  But, of course, it was.

There was much discussion about whether the children should attend the funeral.  In the end, we were allowed to come.  My grandmother told us to turn and press our faces into her ample body and hide our faces if we cried so we did not upset my father.  It was the mid sixties in the South so emotions were to be kept discreetly hidden from view.

The actual funeral day was festive with so many people and so much attention.  Then life just went on.  My father remarried while my sister and I were on a visit to my grandmother so we came home to a new “mother” and house when I was 9.   

I don’t remember much about my mother. Was this because the years I had with her had been so chaotic or because you just don’t at that age? My mother threatened to commit suicide on other occasions.  She was diagnosed with schizophrenia and had electro shock therapy and was institutionalized for a short period of time.  My parents’ marriage was volatile and they had divorced and remarried. Watching your parents marry was surely not normal?   

As a teenager I dealt with it all by interviewing everyone.  I needed to “understand” and was told my mother’s actions were always the “cry for help” type not true suicide.  She always notified my father and he had always saved her.  The final time she had a gun to her head and a hose hooked to the car she sat in.  She told my father she would pull the trigger if he called anyone.  He waited until she passed out then broke in and pulled her out.  He thought she would wake up and everyone agreed she probably thought that too.

I have a few memories that were primarily about big turbulent events.  I have only one of what I thought was a normal mother daughter interaction.  My mother was scooping ice cream for my cousin and I.  I remember looking at her and thinking how pretty she was and how happy I was to get this special attention.  Was this normal?

I thought by getting the “facts” I had dealt with it. But I had been affected deeply in ways that I could not see that shaped my entire life.  I know it took me over 50 years to actually feel grief.  Is that normal? I have no idea.