After telling me that Earl was gone, my mother said, “We’re getting a divorce.” At 33 years old, my mother ended her third marriage.
I was stunned but not surprised. The arguing, drinking, and physical altercations that had been going on for quite some time had probably reached an unbearable peak for both of them. I then asked my mother where he would live and whether he would be coming back to this house. She replied, “No, he has moved to the cottage in Edenville.”
What surprised me most was that after that day, I never saw Earl, Russ, or Sharon again. They were gone. It was as if they had never existed. It was unsettling to realize how abruptly they left and how emotionless my mother was as she told me. Step-family members who had been so integral to our lives were gone without anyone even saying, “Goodbye, have a nice life. I won’t be around anymore.” In so many ways, everything seemed incredibly strange to me, yet I also felt a certain sense of relief. At least for the time being, there was a possibility that calm might settle over my mother’s house, and I would no longer have to explain Russ’s criminal behavior, Sharon’s unwed pregnancy, or the continual drinking and fighting between my mother and Earl to anyone. I was looking forward to a time when family members would look at my sister Mickey and me and not give me that glance that said, “Poor Johnny and Mickey.”
After about a week, I asked my mother how we were going to survive without Earl’s income. She replied, “We’ll be fine. Besides, I rented out the basement to a friend of mine, Mary, who will be moving in next week.”
“A strange woman in the basement?” I asked with a certain degree of trepidation.
“Yup, it will give us a little bit of money,” my mother went on. “And I have a friend who is building houses, and you and I are going to paint the insides for him.”
“Mom, I don’t know how to paint.”
“You’ll learn.” She was right. I did learn. On weekends and some afternoons after school, my mother and I would go to newly built houses in a subdivision and paint each room.
With the departure of three members of my stepfamily, a quiet tranquility blanketed my mother’s house. Four of us now lived there. Mickey and I had separate bedrooms upstairs, my mother remained in her main-floor bedroom, and Mary lived in the basement. At times, it was awkward for me because the washer and dryer were in the basement and I sometimes had to take the dirty clothes past Mary’s makeshift bedroom. The odd part about the basement was that there was no kitchen for Mary, though she did have a typical basement bathroom. Mary did not have access to the main-floor kitchen, so I do not know what she did for food.
(Next Blog Post: My Mother is Gone)
Missed the other parts?
- Read Part 96 here
- Read John’s Whole Life Story
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