Rescued by the Cross Stepping Out of Your Past and into God's Purpose

Butchered Dreams The blade must have been a foot long. Grasping the thickwooden handle, my mother wielded the knife with a threateningswoosh as she hovered over our bunk beds. My sister, Donna, and Ihad awakened wide-eyed when she stumbled into our bedroom. Thesickening, stale odor of alcohol lingered in the air."You were a mistake," she declared in a menacing tone.The darkness hid her face from me. "A very costly mistake.You've cost me way too much money. And for what? You'reworthless, you know that? You came from hell. You'll nevergo anywhere. You'll never amount to anything--just likeyour worthless father.""Mommy, what's wrong?" I asked, trembling."I'm tired of living," she mumbled, looking overmy shoulder as if she were talking to the wall. She paused. Istared at the knife, each second a heart-pounding test of my willto survive. At nine years old, I had already experienced enoughphysical abuse and emotional trauma to last a lifetime. Wouldthis night be the end of my tortured life?"I'll kill you both," she sneered after staringinto space for what seemed like an eternity. "Then I'llkill myself.""No, Mommy, no!" I pleaded. "Stop! Please!Don't do it! Please, Mommy! Don't hurt us!"A flood of tears poured from my eyes. My cries soon escalatedinto hysterical sobs and screams, which sent Donna into spasms. Icouldn't understand her indecipherable babbling, but Iremember Donna's shoulders heaving as she shook her headback and forth. The sight of us wailing and begging for mercymust have snapped Mom out of her liquor-stained haze. She sankslowly onto the edge of the bed and began to cry. The knife slidfrom her grasp."It's all right," Mom choked. "I'm notgoing to kill you. I was just a little upset."My heart pounding, I lay in my bed for hours, unable to sleep. AsI stared at the dark ceiling, I wondered why my mother was soangry. She had been born in South Carolina to hard-working,church-going parents. She told me they never drank, smoked, orcussed. A straight-A student through the eighth grade, my mothertook her first drink at a party when she was fifteen. That onedrink apparently touched off her love affair with booze.Her alcoholism drove her to wander chaotically from place toplace. Living first near the East Coast, she wandered toCalifornia where she met and married her second husband (myfather), who was serving in the navy. Then she drifted back eastand on into the Midwest. I was born in Virginia; two years latermy sister arrived while we were living in Kansas City, Missouri.During my childhood we roamed through North Carolina, SouthCarolina, Tennessee, Kansas, Illinois, Arkansas, Washington,Michigan, Texas, and several other states. Our longest stay inone place was in the Saint Louis area. Even there we bouncedaround like pinballs, moving from suburb to suburb.I never understood why my mother grew to hate my father with sucha passion. They met when he was in the navy. Both of them wereheavy drinkers, which marred their hopes of a long and happymarriage. Deep wounds inflicted by her miscarriage of twins ayear before my birth were salved with more alcohol. But boozedidn't cure my mother's pain; it only numbed her for afew hours.I was only four when my parents divorced. Though my fatherinitially secured visitation rights, Mom pumped us so full of hervenom toward Dad that we complained and asked embarrassingquestions whenever we visited him. Finally heFreeman, Ken is the author of 'Rescued by the Cross Stepping Out of Your Past and into God's Purpose' with ISBN 9781582293035 and ISBN 1582293031.