m&ms: From the Tunnel to the Cave

The most memorable moment in my life would have to be the day I was born, December 19, 1977 in San Jose, California. However, I want to take you back to about 1-2 months before I was born.

My mother had been living with my dad for several years, and had unsuccessfully been able to have children. They were in a very abusive relationship. My father was a chronic alcoholic, and would constantly cheat on my mom. Needless to say, my parents were not followers of Christ. There was constant fighting, and domestic abuse was a common characteristic in the home. My mother tells me that when she found out she was pregnant with me, she was delighted. She said that her nights would seem less long, and her hopes of happiness were once again viable with the thought of her not being alone anymore. Her pregnancy was not as the one painted in so many “girl movies” where the loving husband accompanies the new mom to their ultrasound, the doctor visits, Lamaze, or even the birth. In fact, a few weeks before I was born, my father and mother had an argument that as usual sparked the violence in my dad. I don’t know how I have this vivid image in my head about this inciddent because I was not born yet. I don’t know. I had this recurring dream, and I shared it with my mom. She thought that she had told me about it, but I don’t recall her telling me first. So, who knows. I do know that the dream came about in a time where God was healing my father-daughter relationship. (I was 19yrs old, and it is another blog). This is how the story and the dream goes:

It is late at night, and as usual, my mother is waiting for my father. Her over-sized belly is causing more and more discomfort as she is dozing off on the flowered-picturistic orange sofa. She is tired of reheating dinner thinking my father will arrive soon. Not having the dinner piping hot and served on the table was a possible factor for a beating. The kitchen’s layout is tiny. There is a small sized tan colored refrigerator, and a white gas stove separated by a gap of two feet. The dinette table is brown oak with gold tone steel pipe legs. It seats four. She peaks through the window. Sure enough, it is him because the lights approach their parking space. Fear begins to overshadow her pain and her mixed feelings of anger and disdain. The food is hot, and served. He is intoxicated, and knows that she is upset. He grabs her from behind to aim a kiss on her fair skinned neck. Mother’s muscles tighten as she shrugs her shoulders, and turns her chin opposite of his lips to avoid the smell of his fermented mouth. The tension grows at an exponential rate with his tyrannical responses. He is questioning her about her “coldness”. He is face to face with her. She is asking him to calm down and eat before the food gets cold. His hands on her upper arms are like clamps pressing her in place. His tactics to terrorize her work every time. He tangles his muscular fingers to the lower part of her black silky hair, and brutally pulls her down so that when he walks she is forced to walk with him. He screams that she is his. Utensils are all over the place. By this time, they are close to the stove and the gap between the refrigerator. Jolting and screams are my mother’s useless defense. My father shows her who is in charge by beating her face, pulling her hair, verbally abusing her, and to end the fight…he hits her so hard that she lands in between the refrigerator and the stove. There, the jolts from my movement remind her that she is not alone. All she can do is cry. Her fear of her baby girl being hurt before she was born overtakes her. She cries as her hands wrap her belly. Fear and pain are shared by both mommy and baby. My father is screaming from their bedroom to hurry up and clean up the mess so she can “fulfill” her bedroom responsibilities. A couple of weeks later, I was born. My sober dad visited the hospital, and was extremely happy that he kissed my mom, asking forgiveness, and kissing me. He was so happy that he left to go “celebrate” with his friends the birth of his baby girl. I had left that temporary safe zone in my mother’s womb, traveled through the universal tunnel of life, and entered into a cave in this world, whose darkness was to be explored.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Simply Me
    May 14, 2008 @ 14:08:15

    Wow, truly impacting. This here is a great testimony from who your dad was before to the man he is now. What a complete 180. Domestic violence happens everywhere. According to some sources, it is said that at least one out of three women are beaten, coerced into sex, or otherwise beaten for the rest of there lives. I’m glad to see that your parents got through it. That your mom was strong enough to wait for God’s promises (although she didn’t know about them at that point). For now they are true example’s of God’s love changing lives. Thanks for sharing!


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