Audacity To Beleive:

TheCellarDoor (1)

Where I once saw the matter grey and unbearably wicked. I now see it as the place I overcame with courage and determination.

Although some years have passed I think about that night often. It could have possibly been the turning point in my life.

We were a family of five, connected by a tiny thread. My stepfather had begun drinking early that night. Talking to the trash can. Beating on my mom. And then, the night morphed into more rage, more anger.

He took a hammer after us, three kids. My mother was shouting “put your shoes on.” “Put your shoes on!” He’d burst the television into tiny pieces.

As we headed for the front door.
I glanced over at my mom.
She threw her bathrobe on.

And there we were running for our very lives.
It felt like we’d ran all night. By then the sun was coming up again.

 

I can’t say what happened next. If there is anything left to tell.
The rest is foggy, vague even. I don’t remember sleeping. I don’t remember packing up the house afterward.

I just know, mom said: “enough”. She wasn’t going to fight not like that anymore.

What I can say, what was meant for evil. Somehow, as always, we made it out. We’ve had a few bumps and bruises along the way. Nothing that can’t be repaired. We had our lives.

I’ve come to appreciate peace in my home. The stillness of the water. The joys of being alive. The love that’s shown even in the roughest times.
We made it. Never to return again.~your Kindness sister Krissy Mosley

true stories from my childhood

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Published by: Visionariekind

Krissy Mosley is a story-teller. Recalling history to build bridges of peace. A folklorist to bring sounds of joy and healing vibrations. Krissy Marie is a writer /feminist, mother advocating for change surrounding women’s rights and women's’ issues.

Categories Poetry8 Comments

8 thoughts on “Audacity To Beleive:”

  1. This is so powerful, Krissy. You found the “yes” despite its being a great “no” in your life – starting with a wicked thing, re-framed as the place you overcame. Wonderful!

  2. So much thanks for your mother’s courage for your child-grown-to-woman ability to appreciate peace.Grace surround you. My earliest memory was my father drunk breaking my high chair into pieces and big chunks of plaster coming out of the wall whether he threw them. the difference was that the anger (PTSD really) was always turned at inanimate objects never people and so, though I am phobic about anger/loudness/violence, we stayed with him and when I was thirteen he found AA and made his way slowly out of his hell.

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