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This article is from Today's
Native Father, issue #117, September/October, 2001 Related articles from
this issue: |
I See, I Weep
A Letter to Mothers by Ilva Hertzler |
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Dear Anyone, I am the mother who watches in horrible, fearful silence while my husband beats welts on our 10-year- old son from ankle to shoulder. Voiceless, helpless, quiet rage drowned by unspoken rules of loyalty. Groaning, anguish, alone, shame and tears. I see, I weep. I am little brother giving my body to the groping evil hands in the darkness of that dirty basement apartment to protect my little precious sister. I scream. Helpless, numb, eyes dull and dry. Tears swell the iceberg of my soul. I see, I weep. I am the toddler tied to the bed, playing with the beer bottle, seeing my daddy and my mommy fight, vomit, stagger and destroy. I scoot under the bed in stark fear, wondering when it will stop. No one takes care of me or hears my awful cry. I see, I weep. I am the dad who can’t get a job. They down-sized and I was booted out. The bills are piling up. My stomach is in a tight knot and I can’t sleep. Things are tense at home and I don’t know how long I can take it. Men don’t cry, do they? I see, I weep. I am the daughter who hates school. I stay mad because my friends tease me about my dad and mom being drunk all the time. And I hate it when they drink and hurt each other so bad. I’ve attempted suicide, but no one knows except my friends. I feel like crying all the time, but I can’t. I see, I weep. I am the young man sniffing gas, doing drugs, drinking and doing gang rapes. Hey! What else is there to do? My old man isn’t around and I could care less. He’s got his women and booze. He doesn’t need me. Me?! Cry?! *&^%$#@ I see, I weep. I am the child who hid under the dock when the plane came that day. They found me and took me off to some place and I didn’t see my parents for many months. Things happened there that I am just now being able to talk about. I am so tired of crying, and I feel confused and angry about everything. I hate God, I hate church, I hate me, I hate these tears. I see, I weep. I am the baby torn from my mother’s body before I had time to get big enough to even see her and my daddy. I just didn’t understand it and no one heard my scream. What was wrong with me? I see, I weep. I am the girl raped by my dad and uncle. They say I was asking for it. One day I came home from school and asked my mom what sex was and she slapped me across the face and told me never to say that bad word again. Is this all I am worth? Who loves the real me? What am I here for anyhow. My life is messed up and who believes me? What will I do with this baby I am expecting next month? What good would it do to cry?! It wouldn’t help a thing. I see, I weep. P.S. I am Jesus. Do you hear my cry? I came to live on earth, to show you my Father’s love. But you rejected me, scorned me, abused me and finally killed me. I gave up my life willingly because of my love for you. Why won’t you let me be your friend? I see, I weep, I love. Ilva |
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