| I was born the third oldest of eight children. My father was an alcoholic. When he got drunk, he would yell and scream obscenities, break things and put holes in the wall with his fists. We Would always rock ourselves to sleep with our fingers in our ears and hum so that we could not hear him verbally abuse our mother. My mother was absolutely everything you could ever wish for in a mom. She lived her life for her children and took pride in doing so. She owned two outfits so that she could give her children everything, she always went without. My parents wedding anniversary was approaching, and because they had no money, they both agreed not to buy anything for each other. My mom being the way, she was, saved all her pennies and bought my father a couple of tools anyway. Many years later, my mother told me of that day and how he was moved to tears when he was given those tools. He grabbed a couple of empty beer cases and left. When he returned, instead of a present for mom, he walked through the door with a half case of beer. He sat on the couch and drank until he passed out. My father would leave for days, and when he did come home it was always late at night and he was always drunk. You could feel the tension in the air. He would wake us and tell us how he killed a man, and being so young, we believed him. Still to this day, I remember believing I saw a knife in his coat pocket with blood on it. My mother was there to confort us and call the police to get him out so her children could be safe. She never showed her pain in front of us, but made sure her children were always taken care of. When mom was pregnant with my youngest sister, (her sixth child) she did finally show her pain. She thought she could take no more and had no way out. She told us years later how one night she stood at the end of the driveway, waiting for the next transport truck to come along, so she could throw herself in front of if. It was not the other five children that were in the house fast asleep that stopped her she cried. But the life that was inside of her that she could not take away. Mom went on to have this beautiful daughter and another son. When she was pregnant with her eight child, she had to be put in the hospital for most of her nine months. She bled almost through her whole pregnancy. Doctors told her that she would probably lose the baby. One day the doctors came in and advised that the best thing to do was to take the baby, for if it did survive it would be deformed or mentally challenged but mom told them, no matter what was wrong with her child, she would love it and do everthing possible for her baby. She would not let the doctors take her child from her. On March 1, 1970 her baby boy Matthew was born with a double hair lip and cleft pallet. Mom held her tiny baby in her arms with calm awe and said, "You beautiful child, I will do everthing possible to make your life as normal and happy as possible". And she kept that promise and did just that. she travelled back and forth from Windsor, ON to Sick Children's hosptial in Toronto, On for surgery after surgery for him. While at the same time putting up with an alchoholic husband and trying to find friends and family to care for her other seven children while she was away. One day, while at the doctors for a check up for herself, they found a lump in mom's groin. The doctors sent her to London, On to have it removed. With great hesitation she went. They removed a benign tumor the size of a grapefruit. The following day when the doctors came to check on her, she was dressed, bags packed and sitting in a chair. She told them she had to get back home to her children. the doctors advised her she was much to sick to leave, but she had no one at home for her children. With no husband to care enough to pick her up, she called a cab and crying and in pain took a train home to her family. When my youngest brother was five, he and mom just returned from one of his biggest surgeries. He was stitched from the top of his nose, down and across his lip from one cheek to the other. My father who was not living with us at the time was visiting. All drunk and smelling like a brewery, he pick up his youngest child, sat him on his lap, said a quick hello and put him back down. A short time later, I walked by the bathroom to find my five year old brother looking at his sewn up face in the mirror, crying and saying, "My daddy didn't even notice". That was the day I lost all the respect I had left for my father. While babysitting my brothers and sisters one day, my father showed up with his girlfriend and her three kids. The kids were jumping all over him calling him daddy, while my two younger brothers sat across the room watching with tears in their eyes. Not long after that day, we never saw him again, not a phone call, birthday card, NOTHING. We all went on to live our lives and mom gave all eight of her children all her love and full attention and everthing we could ever want or need. My aunt and mom would go from farm to farm in a tiny Volkswagen and ask farmers for the fruits and vegetables that had been damaged by hail. She was on mothers allowance only because she could not leave eight children home alone nor could she afford or find a sitter who would watch eight kids. So she made girths for horses in her home for .50 a piece just so we could have the things other children had. There were many times all we had too eat was a big pan of corn-on-the-cob or fried potato sandwiches. This would hurt my mother because she had nothing else to give us at the time. We grew, some of us married and went on to our new lives, always keeping in touch with each other and mom. It was Halloween night 1989 and my youngest brother Matthew, now 19 years old had not come home all night. Mom phone me in London and asked if I had heard from him, or if he headed my way to please let her know right away. She was terrified, for Matthew never spent a night away from home without telling her where he would be. He was a good kid, he never drank or did drugs. He loved mom with all his heart and only ever wanted to make her happy. they were the best of friends, and he always talked about one day when he would be able to buy her a house and a car. That Halloween night at 10pm, while my five year old daughter was sound asleep with her bowl of candy next to her bed, my brother who lived with us in the basement watching tv and my husband and I just settling in for the night, the phone rang. My husband answered it, and by the way her spoke, I knew something was terribly wrong. He turned to me and said we must go to Windsor right away, they found Matthew, he was in the hospital. I somehow new by the way he looked at me that my baby brother was not alright. I sat on the floor crying he's dead isn't he? My husband pulled me from the floor he kept telling me he's fine, we have to go. My brother Gary heard the commotion and came running. While I was getting my baby girl ready to go in the middle of the night, I heard my husband say to my brother, "I'm so sorry Gary, we have to go, your brother is dead". I remember everything going black and pounding on my husbands back calling him a liar, while my brother held my daughter and cried. My husband grabbed my arms and with his loving eyes looked at me, and said, "I'm sorry, I could'nt tell you." The two hour drive felt like a life time. When we arrived at the house it was packed with people. My sister-in-law told us that Matthew took his own life. He tied a rope around his neck and jumped from a tree. He died instantly. Two young kids taking a walk found him and thought it was a Halloween prank. At that moment I went into shock. No way, he was a good kid, happy, outgoing, why? why? How could he do this to us? I need to see my mom, I need to hold her. She pulled up in the driveway with my sister, returning from the hospital. They had to treat her high blood preasure. She seemed calm although her eyes were bright red from crying. We just looked at each other and hugged. There were no words. Later when we were talking, I told mom I expected to see her on her hands and knees screaming his name over and over. That is when I found out that there had been an article in the news paper about a young mans body that had been found, he was wearing Nike running shoes and a yellow and white striped shirt and a pair of jeans. The police were seeking the publics help, for anyone with information to please come forward. A friend of my moms read the article and phoned her, thinking it may be Matthew. While my brother went to the hospital to identify the body, my mom tore the house apart, she was determined to find that yellow and white striped shirt Matthew always wore. She never did. The next few days went by in slow motion. I sat on the porch in disbelief, waiting for Matthew to come walking up the driveway. It was'nt until I saw his peacefull body laying in the coffin that I realized, he was never coming back. We burried our baby brother, not knowing why he would or could do such a horrible thing. I lay next to my mom on her bed uanable to sleep and held her hand while we cried together. "Mom, I don't understand why this has happened to us". Her words would forever be with me when she turned to me and said, "Remember when Matthew was born, the doctors told me he would probably die. Well he didn't, he was born a beautiful baby boy who needed me, and during the most troubled time of my life, when I was ready to give up on everything, I NEEDED HIM. God gave me this precious child so that I would go on living and take care of him. Now my family has grown, I have beautiful children and grandchildren. God must have said "HE WAS MINE, I GAVE HIM TO YOU WHILE YOU NEEDED HIM, YOU DO NOT NEED HIM ANYMORE, HIS JOB ON EARTH IS DONE, SO NOW I NEED HIM BACK". Those words struck me like a lightening bolt. Here my mother who was grieving the loss of her baby boy, made her daugther feel comfort by finding a meaning to her sons life and death. I knew then, we would all be okay. We never did find out why Matthew took his own life, we just all came up with our own conclusions so that we could go on. I returned to London, and phoned my mom almost everyday. I loved to here her voice, she always had the right thing to say and always made everything make sense. One day the phone rang again. It was my older sister. "Moms in the hospital the are running tests. Her platletts were so low and she was covered in bruises". Later that night, my heart pounding so hard with fear, I talked to my mom. "It's probably nothing Louanne, go to bed and sleep, I will call you tomorrow when they have the results". The next day she phoned, the tone in her voice had changed. "Hi, hon, she said, the doctors came in. I have Leukemia. Everything went black. "Mom, what happens now" . All she said was everthing will be okay. Weeks then months passed, while we wathched mom suffer through kemo and loss of her hair, no veins left to take blood or put in shunts for treatment. Then one day when my younger sister was in her eight month of pregnancy with twins, we were told mom was in remission. We were elated. Mom was there when her baby daughter had two baby daughters. One month later, the bruises were back. I was visiting from London, when mom showed them to me. I had a hard time going back home that weekend, because I feared the worst. Mom was back in the hospital the next day, and the day after that she passed away. No suffering, no pain, she just slipped away peacefully and quietly with all her children at her side. After the funeral, while at my sisters house, I was trying to understand how my mom had endured so much pain in her life and was finally so happy. Then she suffers such a huge cancer and dies at the young age of 56. My oldest sister (so much like my mom) hugged me and said: "Mom was tired Louanne, so many things have happened to her in her life. She could not have taken anymore. She lost a husband, to alcohol, a child to suicide, she raised seven other beautiful children and watched so much of there pain. God new she could take no more, that is why he came to get her. She is with her baby son now. Now she can rest. No more worries, no more pain." We all went on with our own families, and all are very close, something our mom taught us and wanted from us. We miss he and our brother with all our hearts, but we all know they are both okay and so will we be. Here is something I wrote after my brother died that describes our family: OUR FAMILY IS LIKE A CHAIN, AND LIKE ALL CHAINS, THEY ARE HELD TOGETHER WITH A CLASP. GOD GAVE OUR MOM THE HONOUR OF BEING THAT CLASP. SOMETIMES THAT CHAIN GOT TUGGED, SOMETIMES GENTLY, SOMETIMES VERY HARD, BUT THAT CLASP HELD WITH ALL ITS MIGHT. WELL ONE DAY THAT CHAIN DID BREAK, A LINK FELL AWAY, BUT THAT CHAIN CAME TOGETHER AND MENDED, BUT IT WAS NEVER THE SAME. THAT ONE LINK NEVER FORGOTTEN. ONE DAY MY MOM WILL GIVE HER JOB OF BEING THAT CLASP BACK TO GOD, AND GOD WILL REUNITE EVERYONE OF THOSE LINKS, THEN GOD WILL BE OUR CLASP. |