The Earliest of Memories...Part 2

My husband has told me time and time again that he doesn't know how I have memories from the tender age of 2, he doesn't recall his first memories until closer to around 6 or 7, sometimes I wish I didn't have those early memories because they aren't the kind one holds close to their heart.  What are the things I remember from the age of 2...I remember sitting in the closet with my older brother as we tried to block out the argument my mom and dad were having.  I have a very faint vision of blood running down my dad's head, in a moment of rage, my mom had decided to knock my dad on the head with an ashtray.  An ashtray may not seem like that big of a deal to you, but for those who remember the ashtrays of the 70's, they were super-thick, extremely heavy, large glass ashtrays.  I don't really remember any other details, just looking at my brother with his finger against his lips telling me to be quiet.  Did my dad deserve to be knocked over the head with an ashtray, well, no one deserves to be physically abused no matter the circumstances and especially not when there are children around.  I can tell you, though, that my dad was an alcoholic who came from a long line of alcoholism and like his mother and her mother, once they had a few drinks, they turned into very cruel, verbally abusive, self-righteous beings who rarely remembered what happened during their binges.  Mix that with my mother's inability to filter anything...well, it was exactly as you can imagine...unstable!  It was my mom's 2nd very short lived marriage, a child from each, unstable was just another descriptive adjective to add to her list of character traits.  Surprisingly I don't remember my dad actually leaving, I just remember a time shortly after where he was no longer living with us and my older cousin moved in.  Apparently, she decided to become my mom's live in babysitter at the age of 17 simply to get away from her own mom.  For my mom, it was a ticket to freedom from my brother and I and unfortunately for us all, not the dream job of a 17 year old rebellious teenager.  I remember one night waking up in my crib and crying out for my dad, my mom, my brother...anyone to console me from the dark, scary, quiet room I was in....what I instead received was a spanking from my cousin.  I truly believe that very moment was pivotal because that memory was the reason I could never seem to put my own children to sleep in their cribs.  I remember that dark feeling of rejection and pain and even typing this brings hurtful tears to my eyes.

My next memory comes as flashes only, more like a photo album of events that occurred.  I remember boyfriend one driving us all around in his van, which only had seats in the front.  My mom and my cousin were sitting together in the passenger seat, my brother was standing up in the middle of the van, leaning up against a towering stack of boxes that were behind him, pretending that he was a super-hero having to keep the boxes from falling over and crushing me. I was sitting down in the step area at the side of the van with my back against the barn style doors, I remember laughing hysterically as my brother entertained me, it was dark  outside so he would save his funny faces until cars passed and lit up the inside of the van.  The next memory I have of that night is sitting on our kitchen counter screaming hysterically, completely covered in blood.  My mom was covered in my blood, everything around me was covered in blood. I remember seeing towels everywhere laying on the kitchen floor covered in my blood, my nose was bleeding so heavily that she couldn't keep towels coming fast enough, there wasn't a spot near me that wasn't covered in my blood.  My cousin stood behind my mom, also covered in my blood, yelling for my mom to take me to the hospital.  I later learned that the side van doors swung open as we hit a curve on the road we were traveling on at 45 mph.  I had fallen out backwards landing on my head and rolling until I stopped with my little body laying on the dark road.  My brother went into shock when I fell out, completely unable to speak, they continued driving another mile before discovering that I was no longer in the car.  They turned the van around and stopped when they saw me laying in the road. Fortunately a passing motorist traveling in the opposing direction saw me laying in the road and,  by what I believe as Divine Intervention, placed his car sideways on the road trying to shield me from any approaching motorists, unafraid of the risk he was taking on his own life to stop traffic in the middle of a dark curve in order to save mine.  He bravely was able to stop an approaching car from hitting me which stopped all continuous oncoming traffic.  This was the point when my mom arrived, my cousin who was seated door side jumped out of the van and ran to me...I was lying still in the road, eyes wide open, covered in blood...she thought I was dead and started screaming.  My mom was following behind her, and without thinking clearly about any injuries I had, picked me up in a panic.  That's when they said I started screaming and didn't stop.  They put me in the van and drove me home...I know I know, crazy right??  Who the heck takes their kid home after falling out of a moving vehicle traveling 45 mph at 3 years old covered in a continuous stream of blood???  My mother that's who, God love her, but again, I warned you that making sound, stable decisions was not her strongest attribute. Fortunate for me, boyfriend one and my cousin told my mom they were taking me to the hospital with or without her.  I had lost so much of my blood that the doctors stated a few more minutes and I would've died....a few blood transfusions and 4 weeks later I was released from the hospital having suffered a severe head trauma, broken nose, and a severely banged up little body.  I can tell you now that the consequences a few years later caused the beginning of severe headaches along with the knowledge at 30 years old that the new black spots I started seeing in my field of vision was caused by the severe head trauma, which ultimately caused a bunch of tiny, holes to develop in the "gel" that surrounded my eyeballs.

In my next memory, only a few months later from the accident, we moved into a house with boyfriend one.  At 3 y.o., it was move number 2 for me and move number 5 for my brother. Of all of my future moves, and there were MANY, that was the house I loved the most and had the hardest time leaving behind....