Don’t Do as My Mother Did

How she made bad dreams and death even worse.

My mother often made situations worse in my childhood and left me with more questions than answers.

For a period of time, I had nightmares and woke up crying until my mother took her in bed and placed me between her and my father.

My younger sister also had nightmares. She dreamed a “bad man” was coming to take her away. Her screams would wake me and I’d scream along with her, convinced that if someone was going to take her, they’d take me, too.

To end the problem with our bad dreams, my parents placed two double beds together to create one giant bed and moved two other girls into our bedroom.

I slept on the inside next to my sister, where I felt safe. Two other girls living with our family got the outsides.

This sleeping arrangement worked well until I awoke to what sounded like someone kicking the door open. I squeezed my eyes tight shut, afraid of what might be in our room.

Outside the window, I heard what sounded like chains rattling.

Inside the room, I heard a ticking sound. At first, I thought it was a clock. Then I realized we didn’t have one in our room.

The three other girls were sleeping soundly, and I listened to their calm breathing. I was alone to face whatever was in our room.

I opened my eyes, peered into the darkness, needing to know what was there.

Beside of the bed old was a kneeling figure with a yellow glowing. I held my breath, fearing what he would do.

Fearing the worst and needing to save us all, I screamed.

The eldest girl leapt from the bed. Turned on the light. And nothing was there.

My mother’s footsteps stomped up the stairs. She grabbed me and said, “Be quiet. You know your father can’t stand your screaming. You know it’ll upset him.”

I laid stiff between my parents the rest of the night, not daring to open my eyes.

In the morning, my mother wanted details of what had happened. I wanted to forget about it. She insisted it’d been some kind of message from the spirit world. An apparition. A premonition. A forerunner.

Her words frightened me, even though I didn’t understand what they meant.

My mother concluded the ticking sounds meant time was running out for someone. “It’s a forerunner,” she said. “Someone is going to die.”

I put my hands over my ears and ran away.

I feared I was the one who was going to die.

Even though my mother insisted it wasn’t meant for me, I wasn’t sure I could believe her.

After a few days passed and nothing more happened, I breathed easier.

Then an elderly boarder living with us got sick and taken to the hospital.

Days later, my mother announced, “Roy’s dead.” Then she announced, “We’re going to the funeral! My God, what would people think if we didn’t?”

I’d only ever seen dead people on television. I’d never been to a funeral home before. I’d never been in a special house for the dead.

Flowers filled the quiet room. An organ played in the distance. People huddled together, whispering and dabbing their eyes with tissues. It surprised me how many people knew the old man.

One-by-one my mother led us children up to the casket to view his body. I didn’t want to see him. I kept my eyes closed as I walked beside her.

She nudged me forward. “Move along. Open your eyes. What will people think? You, acting so crazy.”

After doing as my mother wanted, I hoped the worst was over. But it wasn’t. I could not believe what she said next.

“Touch him. Put your hand on his forehead.”

I stood in front of the casket, staring up at her, and asked, “What?”

“It’ll protect you,” she said, like this was something I should already know.

I hoped she was joking, but the look on her face and the fact she never joked told me she wasn’t. She lifted me up. I clung to her, so afraid I might fall in on him. I closed my eyes and allowed her to guide my hand.

My fingers rested on his cold, hard flesh.

“Now you’re safe,” she said, pressing my hand on his forehead. “He can’t come back and haunt you.”

I hoped she knew what she was doing and that all she’d said was true. But I was learning not to trust her.

No longer feeling safe at night, I feared the dark. Afraid something else would appear before me. I couldn’t sleep alone, and had to keep a light on.

As an adult, I’m still not sure what I saw that night. But my mother’s reaction had more of a lasting effect than the event itself.

As I grew older, I’d learned to see beyond my mother’s superstitions beliefs.

When I became a mother myself, I did the opposite of what my mother had done.

Inspired from a chapter in Barbara Carter’s first memoir Floating in Saltwater, where she examines her childhood experiences to decide what to carry forward, and what to leave behind.

BARBARA CARTER is a visual artist and writer with a focus on healing from childhood trauma, alcohol addiction, and living her best authentic life. She likes to take walks, read, watch TV dramas, and practice Qi-gong, and work on her memoir series BARBARA By The BAY. https://www.barbaracarterartist.com

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