by Roxanne Laplante

Created on: February 26, 2009

I can't remember the first time I realized there was something wrong with my mother. Maybe when she threw a sandwich at my father or screamed at me for spilling on the floor. She would rant and rave about the smallest things, and then later take me out for ice cream or buy me something special. Phyllis, my mother cried almost every day. When my father Wayne asked what was wrong she would cry some more and blame him for something he did or didn't do. Some children have fond memories of their mothers. I used to harbor resentment and hate. But now I only feel pity for her as she is slowly losing her mind.

My parents married when they were very young; my mother was eighteen and my father twenty. They fell in love soon after they met and married nine months later. Less than a year later I was born. My first memory is of biting my mother and being spanked. Fights and arguments between my parents were a daily occurrence. After a fight my father would leave and go to my grandparents'. Phyllis had a problem with that too. She called mama's boy, and accused Wayne of loving them more than her.

I was very close to my grandmother for she was a kind and loving person; the total opposite of my mother. Hannah was an excellent cook, seamstress and housekeeper. She was also a nurse and would get up every morning cook, clean and then go to work at the state hospital for boys. She babysat me, my brothers and sister constantly, even after the divorce. Hannah was a saint, which is why Phyllis hated her.

When I was six years old my mother's father Harry, committed suicide which sent my mother to an institution. In the 1960's institutions were terrible places. People were drugged, given electroshock therapy, put in isolation and given forms of therapy considered unethical today. When we visited Phyllis in the hospital she was drugged but pleasant. I can remember she introduced us to her roommate Marilyn, and later my mother claimed she didn't know her.

After my mother came home she was very paranoid. Afraid everyone was talking about her. Of course they were for a while because of her institutionalization. Phyllis went into therapy and was on valium for many years. Terms such "mental illness', bi-polar disorder", "manic depression", "schizophrenia", "psychiatrist", "valium" were mentioned in hushed voices. The crying and fighting continued, however my brother and I accepted it and thought everyone lived like that.

One thing about my mother is that she was very beautiful; always well dressed

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