I lost My Faith When I Turned Eight

ost my faith when i turned eight"

My mom was one of those people who spent hours doing nothing. She would blank out in front of the tv, and not move. I would watch her from the arch in the living room door, and wonder when she was gonna come out of her coma like state and be my mother again. The mom i knew before he broke her.

She'd always been that typical mom, the one who had dinner on the table at seven, and cookies out of the oven by eight. She was in my eyes the perfect mom. The only time she would look a little faltered or out of tune, was when my dad would reach for a beer.

She hated his drinking. You'd see the worry line etch across her forhead after he would grab the sixth or seventh one, that worry line always meant bedtime for us kids.

She would scoot us off to our beds to tuck us in and say goodnight. SHe always put me to bed last, so we could say our prayers together, I'd bless her, my sister, my brother, and then my dad. She would get this sad look on her face, almost as if wishing god would awnser them.

It always took me some time to fall asleep. I would lay in my bed and stare at the ceiling, wishing i would fall asleep before the fighting started. I never did though. I'd lay in bed and listen as my mom would try to calm himd own, and keep him quiet, so we could sleep. It'd calm down in my house sometime after you would hear my mother smack into the linleoum floor. She would start crying , he would pass out,and i would drift off to sleep, eventually.

Whenver i would wake in the morning it would be like nothing happened. The new bruise on my mothers face would be covered clumsily with concealer, and our breakfast would be on the table. She always had a smile on her face, and i always wondered what made her such a good actress.

My dad would walk around the kitchen table kissing each one of us on the top of the head, then in turn kissing my mom. She never once pushed him away.

My brothers and sister never talked about it, well not to me anyway. I knew they knew, it was just not brought up. We would jsut stare down into our cereal bowls, and ignore the fact that my mom would wince every now and then.

I always wondered what my mom did after she clasped my silver cross around my neck everyday, and then put me on the bus. She might have spent all day pretending nothing was wrong and praying to god everything would change, then being disappointed when it didnt. No matter how hard she prayed it never did.

The day i turned eight was a day i'll never forget My mom baked me the cutest cake ever. Chocolate on top of chocolate It was just teh way i liked it. I asked for one thing for my birthday. I wanted a giraffe stuffed animal. The one i stared at everytime we passed it in the store My mom would just look at it, then at me, and say not today.

I blew out my candles, as i went to close my eyes to wish for my giraffe, i watched my dad go for number seven. So intstead of a wish i prayed to god. I prayed to god my daddy would be nice.

It was diffrent that night, the worry line came out, but she didnt put me to bed. It was my birthday, i was aloud to stay up late. So i sat on the couch in my pajamas, with my new stuffed animal and a smile on my face. I was eight years old, and up past nine, that was truly perfect.

He was halfway through his ninth one, when he started in on my mom. She looked scared and asked me to go to sleep, but as i walked out i saw his fist raise and i took a detour to my sisters room. I crawled on her bed with tears in my eyes. She told my not to cry. She said pray to god, he'll make it alright.

That was the night my dad pulled a knife on my mom, and that was the night the cops came. That was the night they took my daddy away, and that was the night i sat on the front porch with with my silver cross in my hands.That was the night i threw it into the middle of the street, and watched it get crushed by a truck, and that was the night i lost my faith.