I’ll Forgive You When Your Dead. This is a story of acceptance and forgiveness. Part 1. Sometimes the thing that doesn’t break us makes us stronger

The first time I realized I was motherless I was about five or six. I grew up with my grandmother and she was the one that took care of me for as long as I can remember. I thought it was normal as it was all I knew. The concept of a mother wasn’t lost to me as I was surrounded by aunts who were all mothers. My father was the only son of my grandmother and he didn’t live with us.

And so my life was playing with my cousins which were mainly boys, so that got me into trouble as I was kind of a tom boy. I had younger cousins, both girls and boys but the ones my age or older were mostly boys and so I learned to climb trees, fly and make kites, not that I was any good, but I could do my thing. I also loved to sing and dance. Ever since I’ve known myself, I was always singing. But I never thought I was good enough to have a career or anything and no one encouraged me. Frankly they mostly told me to “shut up or stop making noise”. But I don’t hold that against them. That was just how it was and I didn’t care anyway because I just kept on singing.

My grandmother called me Sandy, and up until I was about seven I thought that was my birth name. I was Sandy to my family and friends and I could have sworn that was the name I was called at my first basic or elementary school. But I honestly don’t remember my first formative years. Only some memories remain and they are so indelible, I think they helped to form the person I am now. But then again I could be and probably am wrong, as no one really remembers their early years. But I remember some or parts of memories that have carved themselves into my skin, mind, heart and soul. Sometimes I wish I didn’t remember them as they have helped to shape me and I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.

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