Dropped off again, how long will it be before she comes back this time?
“It’s just for a little while honey, Mommy will be back to get you soon. You just aren’t allowed to go where I’m going tonight.”
After telling me this, my Mom would ultimately drop me off somewhere… When we lived in West Virginia, it was usually at my Aunt Wilma’s house. At seven, I worried desperately about my mother due to our past experiences. Whenever she left me at someone’s house, I never knew when she’d be back or what might happen to her without me there to protect her. Sometimes she would come back the next day, sometimes a few days later, maybe a week, maybe longer…
I remember sitting at my Aunt’s house staring out the window towards the driveway for hours, praying my Mom would come back for me soon. I needed her, she was all I had, and I imagined what terrible things could be happening to her the whole time she was away. I never knew if she was being beaten, or something worse.
I had cousins there at my Aunt’s. My cousin Jay and I were best buddies growing up. We would make play forts and play with toys. During the day, we would play in the creek or ride big wheels. Aunt Wilma knew I missed my Mom, as I would frequently ask when she was coming back to get me, so she tried to make it as fun as possible at her house. I did love her and my uncle and cousins, but I couldn’t stop wondering if my Mom was okay. I didn’t understand why she would just leave me for such long periods of time, with no word on how she was or when she was returning for me.
Aunt Wilma knew when Mom dropped me off for “the night” that it was no telling how long it would be before she really came back, but she still always agreed to take me without hesitation. I will always love her for that alone.
My mom had me when she was seventeen. She hadn’t done a lot of living, and with a few bad relationships, she decided it was time to start partying, and I was often in the way of that.
My Aunt Wilma loved music, and she had a jukebox in her living room. She would turn that jukebox up and play George Jones music and dance around the living room. She always had a blast and was trying to raise my spirits…but that music was so depressing to me. Maybe is wasn’t the music, it was just the situation, but I forever associated those awful memories with George Jones, so i hated to listen to his songs. So despite her best attempts to cheer me up, I would sit for hours staring at that driveway, sometimes crying, sometimes just numb, with George Jones playing in the background and wonder if Mommy would ever come back for me…
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