BITTER MEMORIES: A Memoir of Heartache & Survival

by Sue Julsen

  “No, Sarah…she’s dead.”

  I felt my heart pounding with such force I expected it to break through my chest and fly across the room at any moment. Thoughts flooded through my head: No! I can’t lose her again! I’ve only been home six months. I haven’t had time to remember her. I must’ve heard him wrong…

  “What did you say?”

  “Sarah, your mama died when she fell over the banister at the hospital. It happened so fast, there was nothing anyone could do. I’m so sorry.”

  I stared into space for a long moment before I felt I could speak.

  “Did she suffer?”

  “No, sweetie. The attendant said she died instantly.”

  “You weren’t with her!?”

  “I’d already gone out to my car…”

  “Henry, your Mother’s asking for you,” Olivia said from the doorway.

  “Tell her I’ll be there in a minute.”

  A hundred—maybe thousands—of thoughts ran in and out of my head so fast I couldn’t keep up with them. I felt sad, but no tears came. Speechless, not knowing what I should say, I continued to stare off into space.

  “You gonna be okay, Sarah? I need to see what Mother wants.”

  I nodded. “I’m glad you stayed with me, Uncle Henry, but I’d like to be alone now.”

  Funeral preparations were made by Uncle Henry and Olivia since the rest of the family, who I hadn’t met, lived out of town. I heard Granddad on the phone saying the funeral would be in four days to allow everyone time to arrive.

  The rest I only heard part of while passing through the bedroom. “…Jason and Julie are coming in from Colorado day after tomorrow. John and Beth will be here late tomorrow night from Dallas…”

  I knew Jason was Granddad’s other son, but I didn’t know the other people he talked about. Mama had friends all over Texas and Oklahoma, and we’d planned to visit her closest friend, Ruth, one day soon.

  Mama had known Ruth for over twenty years, but she hadn’t seen her in a very long time. Mama said I had almost been named after Ruth, but Daddy didn’t like the name, or Ruth. I heard Olivia say she would call her, so I hoped to meet her at the funeral.

  When time arrived to leave for the funeral home, I climbed into the back seat of Uncle Henry’s car. When Auntie Bitch got in on the other side, I scrunched up against my door, as far away from her as possible.

  No one spoke on the way to the funeral home. When we arrived, the parking lot was full, and inside, the chapel was jam-packed. I glanced around, and in that overcrowded room, I felt so alone.

  I stood quietly in the corner, looking at all the sad faces around me. Beyond the strangers, many beautiful flowers engulfed the room with fragrance. Most were roses and carnations. Organ music played softly in the background.

  Some women came up to me saying: “Oh, you poor child. You poor, poor child,” then they’d walk away, patting their damp eyes with a tissue or handkerchief, just to go whisper with other women in the room.

  One group of ladies kept pointing in my direction, shaking their heads. I assumed they were talking about me, but they were too afraid, or maybe too ashamed, to say anything to my face. These women I appreciated, but still, I felt a need to run and hide; to escape the whispers, the stares, the looks of pity.

  I was nine years old when Mama died and I’d never been to a funeral before. I stood, alone, looking at the coffin in front of the room, not sure what I felt.

  A large spray of red and white roses rested on the foot of the coffin; only the top half open. I looked at the lady inside the box, and she, like all the others in the room, was a stranger. Just another memory that had been erased from my childhood.

  It had only been seven years since Daddy took me from her, and I didn’t remember Mama at all. But, I felt I should remember! After all, the lady was my mother!

  Mama was an attractive woman in her mid-forties with soft brown hair. Her skin, flawless and pale—except for the fake color the make-up artist had put on her cheeks and lips. Her hair had been cut shorter than usual, and Aunt Olivia, a beautician, had styled it in tight curls. Mama never wore her hair in tight curls! She’d always worn it more in a wave with soft, loose curls.

  I looked at Mama from a distance, and I wanted so much to remember her. But time, along with many lies told, had erased all memories of my mother, my home, my life before that night when Daddy kidnapped me.

  She had on the red dress Aunt Olivia had brought to the funeral home. It was probably the only dress Mama owned that didn’t have holes burned through the skirt from dropped cigarettes or hot ashes.

  The first time I saw Mama in that dress, she sat on a bench outside the hospital she hated. I stood in front of her, picked up the skirt, and said, “Hey, no holes in this one!” She smiled at me….

  Mama was sober—then.

  Of course, I didn’t think anyone had bought a new dress for her to be buried in…again, my thoughts were interrupted by another, “Oh, you poor child…”

  I was sick of hearing those words, and inside I screamed: You’re all strangers! My mother’s a stranger! Leave me alone! Please, just leave me alone!

  I wanted to run, but I had nowhere to go; more people were staring and coming toward me! I looked around and saw Uncle Henry across the room talking to his dad. I thought, if only I could get to him!

  But, I couldn’t. Not without passing all the people who stared at me with their judging looks. I stepped back further into the corner and tried to disappear. Most of my life—to avoid being hurt—I always tried to be invisible.

  Oh, no! Another one coming this way….

  “Your mother loved you so much, dear. She talked about you all the time. Always wondering where you were and if she’d ever find you. Oh, you poor child. Do you miss her?” Naturally, she didn’t wait for a reply. “Of course you do, you poor, poor child.”

  Then she turned and was gone, leaving me to wonder who she was, and to think that she’d apparently known my mother.

  “But at least she isn’t overweight like most of the others in the room,” I whispered. Aunt Olivia told me I was too skinny, but I’d always been small for my age— maybe because I’d been starved so many times with Daddy—but still, I hoped I’d never get fat. I wanted to stay slim and shapely like my mother. Mama was five-five or so, and thin. She didn’t eat much, but she did drink a lot…

  “Oh child…”

  Yeah, Yeah! Whatever this one had to say, I didn’t want to hear it. I looked right at her, and forced a smile from time to time so she’d think I was listening, but I knew she’d never know I didn’t hear a single word. Grown-ups were like that!

  I returned to my own thoughts while she rattled on.

  Until six months ago, I hadn’t seen my mother since I was three. I’d tried to think back to the time we were a family, just Mama, Daddy and me, but it had remained a blank. What was my life like before Daddy took me away? Were we happy? A real family?

  I had so many questions.

  I hoped someday the blanks would be filled in…but filled with what? Knowledge of earlier abuse? God only knows! That is, if there is a God.

  If God did exist, why didn’t He ever help me? Maybe He didn’t care about me either. Why should He? I was just a little kid for people to kick around! Maybe the God everyone talked about was just for grown-ups.

  Or maybe, He couldn’t forgive me because I’d been so bad. I tried to do everything Daddy told me…. A cold hand on my arm startled me!

  It was the stranger who’d been rattling on and on. Looking down at her hand, I slowly pulled away from her frigid touch. She smiled, patted her damp eyes and walked away.

  Just as I thought! She didn’t know I hadn’t been listening, and she didn’t even realize I jumped when she touched me. Yep, just like a grown-up, I thought, then whispered under my breath, “Too absorbed in self to notice what anyone else feels.”

  “May I have your attention, please?”

  A man in a black suit and white shirt had tak
en his place in front of the group. I’d seen him on several occasions when he came to the house to pray with my grandparents after Mama died, but he’d never spoken to me.

  “May I have your attention, please? If everyone will take a seat we’ll start the service.”

  Aunt Olivia was a heavyset woman with short, thick black hair, combed straight back. She stood in the middle of the room waving for me to come to her. From the first moment I met her, she’d acted very strange.

  She was short, maybe five feet tall, and fat in a dumpy-sort of way, but the first thing I’d noticed about her had been the way she had of curling her mouth—the alien mouth—when someone said or did something she didn’t approve of—and believe me, she disapproved of a lot of things!

  Reluctant to leave my corner sanctuary, I walked toward her. She met me halfway with her mouth already starting to curl. I figured she disapproved of me because no one liked my daddy—especially Olivia—and several times I’d heard her say, “Sarah’s just like him!”

  “Hurry up, Sarah! Brother Joe wants to start the service.”

  She firmly took hold of my arm, ushered me to a chair in the front row, then pushed me down on the chair. I looked around, and everyone, except for a few old ladies still talking in the back of the room, had taken a seat.

  Uncle Henry stood six foot or more, with glasses and very little hair, but I liked him. He always wore a suit and tie to work, and a hat that Olivia called a fedora, but to me it looked like the hats gangsters wore on TV.

  He sat down next to Olivia, and next to him were his parents, Jack and Margaret. Grandmother was old, heavyset with blue-grey hair and glasses. Every night she’d put the frayed end of a little stick in this brown stuff, then she’d put the dipped end into her mouth. After a few moments the stuff began to seep out the corners of her mouth.

  After dipping she smelled funny, in a stinky sort of way.

  Of course, she always wanted to kiss me afterwards, and the brown stuff would be running out both corners of her mouth and down to her chin. She called it snuff. I called it gross! But other than that, she’d been pretty nice to me.

  Granddad was more on the slender, frail side, balding, with glasses. I liked him the moment I met him! He’d been kind to me, and much quieter than Grandmother.

  Grandmother had always been very emotional!

  Mama’s sister, Barbara, heavyset, brown-dyed hair, glasses, and thin lips, sat next to Granddad. Barbara’s been very mean! Since that first time I saw her and she told me to call her Auntie instead of Aunt Barbara, I’d preferred to call her The Bitch.

  Her cold, heartless eyes were the first thing I’d noticed about her. She could stare a hole right through a person. No matter what anyone had told me, I still believed The Bitch had been the cause of all this grief. It was her fault my mother died! If she hadn’t been drunk and fighting with Mama, she’d still be alive.

  Auntie had moved back home shortly after I’d been kidnapped, claiming her parents needed her to help take care of Mama. She thinks she’s needed to help with everything! I wish she’d been the one to die! I wish she’d leave and never come back!

  You damned old bitch! Oh, how I hate you! I hate you so much!

  Looking at her, I shot her a hateful look, but she didn’t see it.

  Brother Joe had been speaking for some time, but I hadn’t been listening. I’d been lost in my own thoughts—where I usually stayed most of the time—but listening now, I heard him say, “Violet was a long time member of the congregation…”

  Who’s gonna believe that? We’d only gone to church once, and that was the first week after I came home. Mama had seemed so happy, smiling and laughing, but then, like overnight she transformed. I didn’t know what had happened to change her, but every night she’d come home drunk, stumbling around, falling over furniture and breaking whatever was in her path.

  She also stopped talking to me, but I didn’t have a clue as to what I’d done wrong. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been sorry the FBI had found me. Was I different than she remembered? Or maybe, after she got to know me a little, she just didn’t want me.

  Whatever the reason, thanks to Auntie Bitch, I’d lost any chance of finding out why Mama had started drinking again. I’d never know if I was that reason.

  When drunk, Mama cussed like a sailor, scratched, punched with closed fists, and tried to beat the hell out of everyone in sight. Of course, Auntie Bitch started in as soon as Mama stumbled in by calling her a whore and a tramp.

  Then Grandmother would join in and give Mama a bad time about drinking, staying out all hours, and having sex with “anyone and everyone,” as she put it.

  Poor Mama. With both of them giving her a hard time, she didn’t have a chance.

  From previous experiences, when the fight started, I’d run and hide because I knew it was going to get very rough. I didn’t want to get hit, but since I’d been hiding from one person or another most of my life, I was very good at disappearing, quickly.

  But when Mama wasn’t drinking, she was the nicest, sweetest person on earth. Not long after she brought me home Granddad told me, “Your Mama would give anyone needing help the shirt off her back and the last morsel of food out of her mouth…”

  I wish I’d known her, then.

  Brother Joe’s voice rose, breaking into my thoughts. “Violet was a God-fearing woman who loved Jesus Christ…”

  Who’s he trying to fool? That might’ve been the way she wanted to be, or maybe she was seven plus years ago, but now? Not hardly! Although, what he said was better than telling the truth—Mama was a broken-down drunk who’d crawl into bed with anyone who had a cock.

  Poor Mama. Things could’ve been different for her—for us.

  I overheard Auntie Bitch talking on the phone about buying another house and moving back to Dallas. She said her parents were driving her crazy, and since Mama was a lost cause, she was through trying.

  That was a week before the fight when Uncle Henry came and took Mama away. I never understood why he didn’t take The Bitch, too. She started the fight in the first place! But noooo! He only took Mama.

  Auntie Bitch had always been so mean to Mama, and to me, too, when she got the chance. I tried to stay out of sight when she came around. But, since she’s killed my mother, maybe she’ll go away forever. Besides, if she doesn’t leave, there won’t be anyone but me for her to fight with!

  Great! I hadn’t thought about that! After everything else, why not have The Bitch beating on me like she did Mama? Like I hadn’t been beaten enough already to last several lifetimes!

  “Violet is survived by her parents: Jack and Margaret of Lubbock; two brothers: Henry, also of Lubbock, and Jason of Colorado; one sister: Barbara, of Dallas…”

  Hey, he just said Dallas! She must’ve bought that house and told them she’d be moving! Yeah! The bitch will be gone soon! I wish I could stand up right now and rejoice—and, I’d love to give her a swift kick in the ass to help her out the door, too!

  “…who someday will see their loving daughter, mother and sibling again in Heaven.”

  Damn! Caught up in my merriment, I missed hearing the rest of that! Oh well, too late now.

  Olivia believed it wasn’t Mama’s fault she became an alcoholic. She said that blame could go to my daddy, but Granddad told me grief, sadness, and loneliness had driven Mama to drink. Maybe the woman talking earlier did know what Mama thought and felt. Maybe she…again, the strong grip of Olivia’s hand on my arm startled me.

  Most everyone had filed past the coffin when she told me: “Go up there and kiss your mother goodbye. Don’t dawdle. Go on now.”

  What!? Not believing what came out of her mouth, I stared at her for nearly a minute before I slowly stood and walked even more slowly up to the coffin. Total silence engulfed the room as everyone waited and watched to see what I was going to do.

  “Did I hear right? Does she really expect me to kiss her?” I mumbled.

  I stood at the side of the coffin, l
ooking at my mother, thinking: how can I give a dead woman a kiss? I knew I didn’t want to do it, and the thought—holy shit! I can’t do this—kept flashing through my head, making my skin crawl.

  I remained frozen for what seemed an eternity.

  I felt the stares from the crowd like hot daggers in my back, but I refused to turn and look into the horde of onlookers.

  My heart pounded.

  If anyone had asked, I would’ve sworn a pin dropped anywhere inside the vast room could’ve easily been heard throughout. The silence became overwhelming. The waiting, endless.

  Relieved, I finally felt that familiar grip on my arm as Olivia moved me away from the coffin, parking me in front of the preacher. I looked up into his kind face and asked, “Brother Joe, why did she do it? Why did she die?”

  Again, Olivia grabbed my arm, and pulled me away before I could get the answer I so much needed! I wanted to jerk away from her grasp, but not wanting to make a scene, I didn’t.

  “Don’t bother Brother Joe with nonsense questions, Sarah,” Olivia whispered, leading me away. “You’ll regret it one day, young lady, not kissing your mother goodbye.”

  Dumbfounded, I looked up at her. I wanted to say so much, but I knew it best to keep my thoughts to myself. Thoughts like: Regret? No way! No way in hell could I do that! I wanted to say: She’s dead, for heaven sakes! Why kiss a cold, made-to-look-good body lying in a casket?

  But, I didn’t say anything. I saw no use making a bad situation worse, and by all means, I didn’t want to piss her off any more than I already had.

  Glaring, she parked me in a chair against the back wall, and ordered me not to move while she talked with Grandmother. I was glad to be alone, even for a few minutes. Alone with my own pain, and maybe a few regrets. But that time, I’d never regret disobeying her! She could even beat me, but I’d never regret not kissing my dead mother!

  Uncle Henry came toward me, smiling. I felt sure, all the times he’d picked me up on Friday afternoon and took me to his house to stay until Sunday night; he just wanted to get me away from all the fighting. But after he dropped me off with Olivia, he’d go back to work and not return until late. I figured Olivia was the reason he worked so late, but being a gentleman, he never said anything bad about his wife.