Stuck at 8

One memory.
I go back to this one all the time because it seems to be the last thing I remember about being a kid.
The thumps and bangs of dad beating up my mom upstairs. Eight years old and this is where it all changed. This is where my childhood seemed to end, void of any future childhood memories. The one I can always play back without flaw.
It took absolutely everything I had to go up there. I stood just around the corner for what had to be 4 or 5 minutes. Stop and stand in one spot for that long, its agonizing. I could hear the most fowl things being said, and that banging and thumping of a beating in progress. Hate. I had to do something and was totally shell shocked at how horrible this was. I walked around the corner and they both looked over at me. Dad over-top of my mom where he was slapping her. I was so fucking scared, and if you knew my dad, I should be fucking scared. I walked over and tugged on his shirt to get him off and that's it. All that I remember from my childhood seems to end right there.
My wife or friends will recount their christmas memories, all the details of the tree, decorations, gifts they gave each other. They can pinpoint all these great things that happened on not just one of those days, but dam near all of them. The pre christmas rituals of carolling, of midnight mass, and I have none. Zero.
Actually, I do have 2 christmas memories. One was when my brother got a guitar and I didn't, although I was clearly the guitar player and again I have no idea what I did get. The other is the memory of my mom looking out the window of our living room on Christmas night. Dad wasn't home and she was just staring out into the dark cold night. She was well dressed, which seemed odd. Only years later did I realize she was on the verge of leaving, getting out. I bet she stood there for 2 hours, or more, and finally gave in. She couldn't leave all of us kids. I'm so sorry for her and can't imagine the calculations and logistics of actually leaving that she must have been trying to process. Guilt for all of us kids in the years to come as it was us alone that kept her in hell. She never threw this in our face and always had our backs. But we know it, we kept her there.
I just want to get through Christmas each year. Its a sad time for me and not filled with all the joy and excitement of Santa coming. Don't get me wrong I have tried the best I can to put on that other face, and make it as fun for my kids as I can, but inside I just have nothing. I feel ( and I use the word feel lightly) like my brain is just a block of ice. Can't see through it and whats back there shouldn't be known. It is cold in there and filled with too much hurt and unbearable pain. I suppose our minds somehow protect us from ourselves.
The only other things I can muster from my memory is the odd birthday, and all I remember from that is Chocolate cake. No icing, no gift I can remember, but just that big and thin chocolate cake. It was awesome and mom made it especially for me. I did feel that.
I learned much later in life that it was normal(?) To not speak of these things.
Toxic Shame. I finally realized I needed counselling when I was walking with my boy one morning. He was about 4. I was holding his hand and knew that I loved him, knew that if someone came with a gun I would plead to take my life and let him go, but just wished I could feel that. Feel anything.
My brothers and sister obviously went through their own hells and have their own stories. Their lives also having been forever changed by moments in our youth. All of them with similar results and lives filled with alcohol and/or drug abuse. All of us hiding and deflecting the truths by dampening our emotions whenever things get “too Real”.
For all of us nothing is worse than someone trying to fix it. Unless you have walked that walk PLEASE don't try to talk that talk. We calculate and move much faster than most, and have always had to just to survive. To change a situation or conversation that is getting “too Real”. Usually humour would be our way out, and we are extremely funny people. I mean Real funny.
“He is quite possibly the Greatest actor of our time. His roles can only be described as Epic. He alone has made us laugh, cry, feel things we didn't know were in us, and almost every role has left us with our mouths agape. He is.......Lou Diamond Phillips!”Get it?
Or even better, what if all of the above was my bio for an online dating service. Now that's funny.
Mom gave us our humour, and may even be the funniest person I have known. Certainly for someone in her age bracket. Most of the parents we knew were all parenty, if you know what I mean. Mom was one of us, and has always been more like a best buddy than a mom. She would drop us off at elementary school in the winter, and with other parents in that scramble and teachers standing around, and would blow a couple donuts in the parking lot. We would get out just killing ourselves laughing. That alone gets funnier and funnier the more I think about it. Sure all those kids can remember their childhoods, but they sure as hell never had that. In her late 60's I would pop by her place around 3pm and she would be heading into the house. To watch the Simpsons. That kicks ass.
I am up chronically early everyday and used to head to moms at about 4am, tap on her bedroom window, and ask if she wanted to go for a drive. Every single time the answer was... K, give me a minute to get dressed. We would head out forestry roads or even just pick a direction. I sold heavy equipment and she would come on those days too, in the middle of nowhere to see loggers. Long days but she was always in.
Hopefully we would find some cool roads to check out on those non work days and, If we were lucky, we would find and old abandoned log school house or or any cool places like that. If I was unlucky we would run across an old claw foot bathtub. That is a whole other story. Lets just say I knew I would be coming back, usually dragging a buddy to help, and taking it to her place to refinish. Those thing are dam heavy.
We were able to offer mom the other half of a small duplex we bought. Had her there for 18 years before she had her first stroke. I don't want to get into details of the years to follow, at least not right now, as that too is a story of its own, “too Real” I guess. I am her POA (power of attorney) and was finally forced to make decisions I wish upon no one.
All that matters is what she gave us, and that was love like every other mom out there. To the best of her ability. She didn't feel comfortable with those words and I have never expected, or may even feel uncomfortable if she did say them, but I know it. And hey, she didn't leave us. That alone.
She is still with us and a major influence on my boys. Provided them with belly hurting laughs many many times. I sure miss being able to go get her, and head out for a day of stories and laughs. Some of my best days ever. Which when I think about it, should be no surprise. I mean hey, was hanging with my mom.
I'm no writer, and have been wondering what compels me to put this on paper. Maybe some other mom or child like me will run across this and know they are not alone. That it will be “ok”.
Or maybe I just need mom to know that I realize all these things and am so grateful.
I have the love of the most beautiful wife on the planet. Mother of the year every single year and someone that seems to give love without effort. She has two boys 15 and 12. and an 8 year old husband. Hoping 9 comes soon.