The Great Big Book of Everything

I have never felt comfortable talking about what happened when I was younger due to the fact that it has scarred my life. I was a good kid thrown in a bad situation. My parents were never there and when they were my mom and I were punching bags. I hated it and still hate it to this day. I know my dad has changed but I can never truly forgive him for the pain and humiliation he put me through as a kid.
I was only six when it started and I was ready for the baby boy my mom was about to have. I was old enough to do the dishes and thus my chores began, unfortunately when I didn't clean them right my dad made sure I knew it. I can still hear his loud voice scream at me through the house as I ran to hide in my bed. I knew my bed wouldn't keep my father from getting me but as a kid I thought hiding under the covers screamed sanctuary. I cry at night still when I think back to the first scars he left on me. No the scars would not be engraved in my back forever but the emotional scars would stay there for years to come.
I don't know if I didn't understand it or if I tried to ignore it but somehow I knew my parents were not in their right minds. I mean what kind of a parent would hit a child or watch their husband hit a child? I was lost both emotionally and intellectually. I had not known it but my parents were not only alcoholics but druggies too. Now I know what you're thinking, "Oh great another sob story of how a child was beat until prince charming came along." You're wrong i got out of there but I didn't go anywhere better. However we'll get to that later.
I continued to take the hits my father gave me until we had to give up the house. They didn't have the money to pay for it and thus we were thrown out like meat to wolves. We were taken in by my grandparents and they found out what had been happening. I was ten at the time and had taken my share of hits. CPS found out from my grandparents and I was taken and they were given custody. Unfortunately my parents lived with my grandparents so that little plan backfired. I refused to go to Dallas to live with my Aunt and Uncle because I had already made friends in school. Thus I was still stuck in a situation I had never wanted to be in in the first place.
Two years passed and nothing had changed. My dad was back and forth out of jail and my mother had quit drinking but was still hooked on drugs. I only got a break from the beatings when my dad went to jail. I still amazes me how he was able to live with us even with four counts of domestic family violence. I was doing good in school and although I the violence continued I couldn't bring myself to hate my mother or father. Although there was one person I could count on to be there for me at all times.
My Nana. I was attached at the hip to her and she loved it. She was my rock. My comfort. My sanctuary. I loved that woman to death and still do. She was everything I wanted my mother to be. She was caring, loving and gentle. I can remember running to her with tears in my eyes and she would always know how to cheer me up. She taught me how to read, write, laugh through terrible times, and most of all dance. I loved dancing with that woman she was beautiful when she did. She was eighty five at the time and I was convinced she was invincible. That was until the summer of 2001. I woke up to my grandfather telling me to get dressed and come outside. I got out of bed slowly gefore getting dressed in shorts and a t-shirt and heading outside to the lawn. I was worried when I found everybody crying. I wandered over to my grandfather and asked what had happened. "We need to talk about your Nana."
I sat still unwavering, unemotional, shocked. I couldn't cry as I walked up and viewed her body stiff as a board, pale as a ghost and still the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I couldn't believe she was gone. Who would I run too? Who would I cry too? Who would I dance with? I stiffened slightly at the thought that there was no one to save me now. I was in Illinois watching my sanctuary being buried in the ground under a grave stone. It wasn't until we headed back to Texas that the reality of what had happened hit me. I bawled to whole way home.