{ Motherless Daughters } uniting those experiencing motherloss

Our Stories

Tabitha's Story

Im using her coffee cup today. Its white with flowers that reads with her name "Dee". Perhaps its my little way of making myself feel closer to her. Its been 9 years today. June 23, 1996. The day my whole world shattered and my best friend, my mother was taken away from me.

Ive been wanting to share my story for a long time, but I never could bring myself to put my word on paper. Now, Im ready. What better day than today?

As a young girl, my mom was my heroine. She could do everything from save the world to teaching me to tie my shoes. She was my everything. I grew up with 4 brothers and sisters, I was next to the youngest. I was also the quiet sensitive one who latched to Mommy for support and shelter.

Throughout my childhood i thought I was pretty lucky, i was close to my mother, able to tell her anything, and I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world; although my parents never officially married, they were still together. I to this day try and hide what i really knew was going on.

Mommy and Daddy would fight a lot. A LOT. I remember one time when I was about 5. mom was on the waterbed and Dad took a knife and went to stab her, luckily she moved and the waterbed was slowly flooding the downstairs.

Years passed and I though things were getting better. Sadly, i just want made aware of how bad it had actually become. When I was 12, in 6th grade, things took a turn for the worse. There were nights when my sister, brother and I would huddle in a corner in our rooms, blasting music and calling my grandmother for comfort, we wanted to drown out the fighting we heard.

By mid-May 1996 my mom had enough. She told us to pack a change of clothes and that we were leaving for the night. We ended up sleeping in the hospital parking lot in the car. It was safer than home.

The next few weeks were spent staying at family and friends houses until we settled in a battered womens shelter for about a month. Throughout all of this my mother still composed herself and never let us see her upset. She was super-human to me. She was everything I wanted to be.

We finally got a little apartment. We were there not even a week before it happened.

I was at my cousins house for the night. The next day I knew something was wrong when we were told to go with a friend of my uncles to swim and have fun. A few hours later I learned that my dad took my mom as she was walking to my grams house. He took her to somem railroad tracks and killed her with a shotgun.

When I heard the news I sat- stunned. I have never been so angry! I was so built with rage that I couldnt even cry. i wouldnt sit still, I had to go for a walk and explode. I kicked the earth, I screamed, I let every emotion loose. In the end, she was still gone.

That was 9 years ago from this day, as I sit here typing. 9 years ago from this very moment I was learning what happened to my superwoman.

The years passed and the man I had formerly known as my father passed away of diabetes... sitting in a much deserved jail cell.

I have struggled with my adolence years. There was no mother to halp me with boy problems. No mother to tell me how beautiful I looked in my prom dress. No mother to comfort me when I was sick. And more recently, no mother to sit and shed a tear I walked down the aisle with my grandpa on my arm to marry my best friend. Im now dealing that there is no mother to call when my future children are crying and wont stop. When theyre sick, I cant call thier Nana and get the answers. And I lost a large part of being a carefree child. I lost a lot of my memories due to the traumatic events that occurred. I get flashbacks every now and then and I try to write them down so I dont forget. A large part of who I was is gone.

I take comfort in knowing that she may not be visable, but shes here. She was at my prom, she was at my wedding. She will be there with me as I bring life into this world. Shes here. Sometimes I swear I hear her laugh, or sense her presence. And I know shes proud of me and the woman Ive become. I know she would want me to share my story and hope some woman out there will remove herself from a situation before its too late.

My only hope is that someday my children will look at me as thier heroine and I will be as good as my mother. Or pretty darn close.

This is for you, Mom.

Dolores J. Wilson.

March 22, 1954 - June 23, 1996

"A Spirit Never Dies Unless It Is Forgotten."

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