Recently, two local (to my area) teenagers were charged with murdering a parent. You can read about the story here. The local community and the extended family are in shock over this tragedy, especially given the behavior of the deceased’s daughter in the weeks after the murder. While I certainly don’t condone what happened to this mom, I think I have insight into how it may have occurred. Many of you are familiar with the death of my parents. Those of you who know me personally also know that I did not exactly have a traditional upbringing once my parent’s passed away.
My memories of my teenage years are not happy ones, and I rarely talk about those times. My legal guardian during this time was my eldest brother, and I believe that he did want to do right by me. But he was mentally ill and addicted to drugs. My past is filled with memories of drug abuse, abandonment by him at times and obsession from him at others.
I can remember wanting him desperately to disappear during those times. I longed to come home from school one afternoon and find him gone, never to return. I can also remember sitting by the window of one place or another, waiting desperately for him to return after days and days of not coming home. No one can ever imagine what I went through during those times – hating him but needing him, as he was my guardian and the only adult figure in my life at that time. There wasn’t another adult family member who wanted to take care of me and I was painfully aware of this fact.
Because I am strong, I did manage to escape my guardian the summer before I turned 15, though he remained my legal guardian until I was 18. And despite my bad times, there were – there still are – many other wonderful, supportive people in my life who loved me and showed me in their own way how valuable I was during those dark times.
When I was 25 years old and long away from his tyrannical obsession, my eldest brother told me that he often sat in our living room with his gun in hand, contemplating killing me while I slept in the next room. Then he thought about turning the gun on himself. Chilling, indeed. But his confession did not surprise me. I was often awake myself those same nights, and I also thought about his gun. I thought of killing him and freeing myself from the misery and pain of our mutual existence. I dreamt of a world without him in it, and it was many years before I could forgive myself for those thoughts.
There are some wounds that never heal. Not even with time. Not even with all the love in the world.
So even though this story is sad, and the path these two kids chose is hard to understand – I find myself relating somewhat to these kids. Most days you would never know that I came from such an existence. Most days I am the happy, well-adjusted adult you’ve come to know, appreciate, and adore (you know you do.) Sometimes I let those closest to me take a peek at those turbulent times, and if you ever hear a story from that time, then you must be someone I’ve really let in.
Posted by mmkeekah 
