Ever since i was little Christmas was something i looked forward to, but always fearing too. Because there was always a possibility that it would be an emotional disaster. And for most years it would. Christmas, New Years, Birthdays. Always chaos, yelling, and crying. There were a constant pressure of grey clouds and empty words that left us broken and confused. It was supposed to be a family event, but they tore us apart instead.
So for many years i hated it. But last year i thought that there might be hope for a “picture perfect Christmas”. Because i no longer lived at home, we had had a breather from each other and could now stand to be around one another. It was the best Christmas I'd ever had. And i took it for granted. I didn't know that that would be the last happy family memory. That it was silence before the storm.
I guess it all started in January, i just didn't know yet. For me the story starts in the late summer of 2012. I was once again home, this time for my little brother's birthday. My mom, asked if she could talk to me alone, and so we did.
My dad had found a new girlfriend and didn't want to be married anymore, but they couldn't afford the divorce. So they still lived together in the same house and shared the same car and bills.
Now this may sound pretty normal and harmless, and had it happened i any other family it probably would have been. But for our family it would mean drawing lines in the sand, depression, fights, uncertainty, crying, screaming, law enforcement, loving and hateful emails, hurt, arguments, phone calls late at night, and death.
Because my dad was leaving every other weekend, and my brother didn't know where he would be living the next day because he was a foster child and mom and dad had shared custody of him. So my mother was left all alone.
My dad had always been the one to take care of everything, so she couldn't do the most simple of things. She was lost and without money, trapped in a house that didn't hold anything for her.
I should have seen the signs.
All the needed conversations about my past as a foster child, that had to be done now.
Checking on our educations and if we had a future set out for us.
The goodbyes posted on Facebook.
On December the 2 i called her at 8pm, twice, but she didn't answer, so i called my dad instead. He answered saying him and my little brother was about to get off of the train they were on. They had been down to visit his new girlfriend that weekend, and my mom was supposed to pick them up at the train station. So we hung up and i went on with my evening.
The next day i felt i could handle going to school (i have a bad habit of skipping) so i did. I had a great day, and after school me and my friends went into to town and spent an hour to two just having fun. So around 5pm i got home feeling happy and good.
I could see a car i didn't recognize in my foster families driveway, but didn't think much of it. When i got inside my case worker and contact person was sat in my foster families living room. I was confused because we didn't have a scheduled meeting, but didn't think further of it.
“Your mom is dead” was what my case worker said.
The words sounded wrong, and way to harsh. Like she was voicing it wrong. The words didn't justify what had happened. My world stopped spinning and everything seemed wrong. Like she couldn't just be dead.
She hadn't come to pick up my dad and brother the evening before, so they had taken a taxi home. Only to find naked pictures of my dads new girlfriend all over our walls, overturned tables, empty alcohol bottles and pills. And my Mom dead on our couch. Dead. Halfway blue and curled up under a blanket. Suicide.
My brother had to see our mom lying dead on the couch we still sit in today.
Right now all that's left o my mother is her ashes in an urn, four rooms down the hallway. Her. My mom. All i ever had.
FUCK.
So yes this Christmas is ruined beyond beliefs.
I can't. I just can't.
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