hartubzani

I N C O M P L E T E

When my mother was living in Harlem with me, she wanted to go back to Virginia.  When she was in Georgia with my sister, she wanted to come back to Harlem to be with me.  When she was in Virginia close to my brother, she wanted Georgia.  I used to tease her and tell here she wanted to be anywhere but where she was.

I’ve recently be wondering if I’m much different.  I am constantly in need of change.  Seeing people doing the same thing for years scares me.   At one time I used to think it was a curse to never be satisfied.

I was my mother’s youngest child.  My two older siblings were from my mother’s marriage to George Gray.  The marriage dissolved because of physical abuse. I was the product of brief painful relationship my mother had after her marriage fell apart.

There was a decision made to give me the last name Gray to hide the shame of having children from different fathers.  I deserved my father’s last name, despite how the world viewed it.  I knew I was different because my sister, who was the oldest, always treated me like an outsider.  I can’t remember us ever playing or laughing together or her treating me with the kindness that our brother or rather her brother enjoyed.  I believe in her mind I was the physical representation of her parent’s failed marriage.

The reality that I was not a Gray really hit home at eight years old when my mother suffered a mental breakdown. My sister and brother went to live with their paternal grandparents, the Gray’s.  I went to a foster home.

I remember the foster-mother being very nice but her children were mean.  I was in a strange place and my child-mind wanted and needed what was familiar.   I wanted my family, even my mean-sister.

Being in a home with strangers, I learned to accept what was given to me.  When the older children in the house would taunt and pushing me I responded to their mean behavior with silence.  It was during this time that I learned the safety of withdrawing into myself.  I learned to shut off my feelings and thoughts.  The silence was not something I could control; it was impossible for me to talk.  Even when I willed myself to talk the words would not come out.  It was as if my soul was keeping me locked within in place that I felt safe.  I watched and listened, and when the listening became boring I watched more.

My time in the foster home was no more than about three weeks.  I never went back to live with my mother or siblings but I was with family.

I had a happy childhood despite all of my experiences. I believe that God allowed me to have certain experiences to connect us to others.  That experiences and similar childhood experiences are what sparks my kindness and sensitivity to children.

Have a wonderful day!

God is awesome.  Courtney is doing so well in school (smiling hard)!!!

It was nice seeing you the other day Steph.  Anita, thank you for the words of encouragement.  Mary, thank you for the push.  Duane, transparency is what saves me and helps others.  Thank you for being a friend.  I know you wanted to protect me.

Love & happiness,

Tonia