To a little girl at the age of 8 years old with purple ribbons in her hair, this was true happiness. This made her laugh, she felt pretty, and the color filled her with joy. She could feel a part of what she believed was family because the woman she called mommy always made her feel pretty every Sunday when going to church with a purple ribbon in her braids.   

One day when she was taking a break from the church choir rules of singing, singing loudly so that God would hear his gift in her, a voice that could be heard by the souls of others near and far, she wanted to take a break.  She followed her friends down the stairs of the church because it was time to just be kids.  So she began to play with her church friends in the downstairs part of the church where the aroma of deliciously cooked food was waiting to be served to those that had given thanks unto the Lord.  The boys played with their toy cars and talked about football and their other favorite sports.  The girls began playing miss mary mack and then they played skip to my lou.  The girls were the best of friends.  Suddenly a whisper from a play friend’s voice said to her, your mother is alive.  It was as if the most expensive glass on earth had shattered and the world was still.  The words had no meaning and yet suddenly this beautiful little girl with her purple ribbon in her braids, filled with joy and laughter from just having fun playing and twirling and skipping with her friends and her pretty church dress on, and little white ankle socks on small and narrow feet with brown shoes and a dress that just said look at me and my pretty white dress just came to a stop because her truth came for her on that sunny Sunday morning in God’s house.  Some people say the truth hurts, but she did not know there was another truth as she only knew her mother had passed.  It was as if someone split her in half to tell two stories one to be a lie, and the other to be a truth.   A truth that someone whom she never met, heard, or even imagined gave birth to her but she thought had died.  This truth came to her as a whisper from another child. Suddenly she felt lost. 

She asked her friend to stop pretending, stop skipping, just stop being a liar.  Her friend told her she was not lying because she heard her mother talking about it to the very woman she was calling mommy and that everybody in the church knew about it.  She explained to her the woman she was calling mommy was a Foster Parent because her mother had given her away.  Her story began to unfold piece by piece.  She sassed all those that were a part of the lie, She started running away, this occurred 13 times from 8  to 14 years old.  She raised her voice in anger to anyone that simply said hello.  How could her mother do this, why would she do this, how could she be alive and not come for her.  She started stealing from the Foster Parents and giving the money to less fortunate children.  They began beating her calling it a spanking for the bad that she had done.  She began hurting children in school.  This beautiful little girl did not want to share anything with anyone –her toys, chocolate, or her make-believe foods in her dollhouse.  She began skipping school, acting out in church.  The beatings were by the hands and sharp objects were being used all by the woman she called mommy, and the uncle just watched or pretended there was nothing going on.  She began telling people about what was happening even the Foster Care system because they use to come by to visit but she never knew what their visit was about until she knew she was a Foster Child.  She was told she will never tell anyone or she would get worst beatings. So many more things began happening to her, the only thing left to do was begin planning her escape.  The beatings were violent, these people called her names , and diminished her mother’s culture.  They made her cry every night.  Her soul began to cry out for her mother (whose name she never knew other than mother)  in the hope she would hear her and come to her child.  The beatings became too much for her, and so she made a decision to run —she ran away 13 times by the age of 14 and each time Foster Care returned her to the home which she began to call a house of hell.  At the age of 14, a beating came to her in the form of a stick with a nail attached to it, on that day she rose up from inside herself and put her fists together and said not today and never again and so she walked towards the Foster Care mother without fear she took the stick from her hands.  That evening before bedtime she had all of her things packed and hidden away.  Before night she pretended she was putting out the garbage, her things were hidden on the stairwell, she closed the door and ran away one last time determined never to return. 

Mothers of children there is so much more to life than just giving birth,   it’s just the beginning.  Remember you are a part of the story—be there for the beginning – middle – and the end.

Written by Britt