Category Archives: daughters

Macy VIII

By: Mia Hazlett
4/11/13

My grandmother’s past was becoming my present. I wanted to consume every letter at once as though they were an enticing book, but each letter set heaviness in my heart with each word. It was only curiosity to get to know whom my grandmother was, which pushed me to finish each sentence.

Now I sat in front of her fifth envelope. It’s funny when someone is given so much power in a family, you just believe in their greatness, whether you like them or not. Glancing over her barely legible four letters I had read, I realized my grandmother’s weakness, her education. It never occurred to me she lacked an education. But maybe that is what made the letters so heart wrenching to read. She was so desperate to tell her story but she barely knew the words to express her years of misery.

Wen you wit a babee in you, boy you don’t feel reel nise. You don’t feel nise a tall. Macy, I dun hated dat der babee in me cuz my momma hated me cuz a dat babee in me. Wazn’t nuttin I cud do rite. She jus hated me.

But she dun luvved me sister. Me sister she wuznt like me. Well she didnt look like me. She wuz reel reel witelike. She cudda dun passd fur a wite persun if she want. But jus cuz moma dun hated me, me sister she tuk care ov me reel well. You see she dun new wut had happened in dem woods wit dem boyz dat dun killed our bruthers. She dun got da wurse of wut dem boyz did. Doctur dun sed she wud never have no babees. It wuz weeks befur she cud even walk after it dun happend.

But it don’t matter nun. I iz gonna hav me a babee and my sister, she reel happee fur me, even tho my moma want us to die. Yup, my moma told me she hope us both die fo we bring hur mo bad luk. She don’t want no darkee babee in hur house. She sed I wuz a bad gurl and it wuz my falt that boy dun dis wit me. I wuz alwayz wearin dem tite cloze round him.

Macy, when yur own moma hate you dat much, you lern to hate yurself too. And when you iz only but 12 yeerz old all you want iz yur moma to luv you. So 1 day I dun take a big rock and put it on da ground and dun fell belly furst on it. I dun nocked da air right out ov myself. It dun hurt reel bad. Sister came reel fast, but befor she culd stop me, I dun catched my breath and did it another. Dis 1 hurt me somethin reel bad and I woke up in the house with the docter man there.

Moma dun stud in da door and she dun hated me. I cud see it in her eyez. She dun hated me somthin bad. To dis day Macy I don’t no why. I dun killd my baby so we won’t bring hur no bad luck. Yes Macy, I dun killd my baby fur my moma and she still hated me.

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Filed under daughters, death, fiction, Macy, racism, sisterhood

In My Head – Part II

By: Mia Hazlett
4/11/13

Dear Diary,

I haven’t seen my dad in two weeks.  I think my parents are going to get a divorce.  My friend Sara at school and another boy Philip, their parents are divorced.  I know a whole bunch of other kids whose parents never even got married.

I miss my dad.  I wish he was here or that I could just see him.  He called a couple of times, but that’s not the same.  He says he and my mommy are just taking a little break right now.  I guess kinda like me and my friend Sara got in a fight that one time and we didn’t talk to each other for three whole days.  We didn’t even sit with each other at lunch or on the bus.  That was the worst fight in the whole world.

But this is worse than three days.  It has been two weeks and one day.  I’ve been marking it on my calendar.  I heard my mother on the phone the other day saying she was so happy he was gone.  I don’t want her to be happy he’s gone.  I want her to miss him like I do.  If she doesn’t miss him than he won’t come back and live with us or maybe to even see us.

I heard my mother praying the other night for peace.  I don’t know what that means, but she sure has been happy.  She was in the kitchen the other day making dinner and she was singing and dancing.  A long time ago before my sister was born, she used to do that when she was cooking, but I haven’t seen her like that in like forever.

Then the other night, we stayed up until like 11 watching a movie.  She made us popcorn and not even the whole night did she talk on her phone.  Not once.  Not even to text.  But when she went to the bathroom I looked at her phone.  It was Daddy saying he was sorry and he loved her.

I hope she wrote him back later.  I mean he was saying sorry.  You’re supposed to make everything ok if someone says they are sorry.  But I don’t know if I want her to be sad again.  It has been really fun doing stuff with my mom since she’s been happy.  I just wish I could see my dad too.

From – Me

© Copyright 2013, Mia L. Hazlett

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Filed under children, daughters, divorce, family, fiction, In My Head, marriage, parents

Macy VII

By: Mia L. Hazlett

5/14/2012

Work was absolutely impossible.  Knowing I had a box full of my ancestry waiting at home made me appreciate the long weekend that was now upon me.  I had told my friends I was going away for the weekend, so I could have uninterrupted alone time with my grandmother.  Dead or not, this was the closest we had ever been.  I needed to hear her story.  I wanted to understand why she spent my lifetime showing her love for me through hate.

There was an inner conflict warring inside me at the same time.  Should I include my mother in unraveling the mystery of her mother?  We both knew who she was, but I guess in life it means a whole lot more to find out why people are the way they are.  But because I was only a few letters in, I decided to wait on sharing with my mother.  I felt a need to protect her, just as she had spent her life protecting me as best she could.  There was a part of me that felt as though my grandmother was apologizing to my mother through me.  She knew I told my mother everything,  Maybe she wrote these letters to my mother so I would tell her, rather than for her to have to read them by herself.  Because if my mother had received them, she would never share any of these with anyone.

I usually have my bottle of Riesling and a good book as I cozy under my sheets on a Friday night.  But wine didn’t compliment the mood to the #4 envelope that sat next to my pillow.  I opted for a cup of decaf coffee.

Well Macy,

Even dough Mz Suzana dun luvd me and Moma, we dun stoped wurkin’ fo her not to much aftr dat der lunch.  Sho was sad fo me and Mz Mary.  Sho was sad.  Wuznt jus bout money now and eatin.  It wuz jus hard to find good white folk to wurk fo bak den.  Moma didn’t want wurk fo nobody dat had manee boyz.  ‘Cuz aftr skool I wood come on and meet her at her job.  Even dough I wuz yung, she dun sed my bodee parts wur reel ladeelike. We dun had us good luk wit Mz Suzana, but not manee wite ladeez wuz like her.  Lots ov dem dun hated culurzds. Don’t reelee no how it wuz dat Mz Suzana culd say stuff to her son, cuz most timez da white women culd not say nuttin in her house.  So Moma wuz scurd a boy or da man in da house wood want to touch my bodee.  After wut Mz. Suzanaz boy dun did to me, I didnt never want no boy on top me like dat again.  

Moma dun found uz a house wit a reel mean ole ladee, but she wuz alwayz in her room.  Her dotter wuz sumpin reel nice Macy.  Sumpin reel nice.  I dun liked Mz. Bell reel good.  She pay Moma eight moneez a week Macy.  We ain’t dun never made dat type der money.  Mz. Suzana onlee pay Moma five moneez a week and gave us food and da clothes, but now Mz Bell do dat and mo moneez.  Mz Bell have hurself two sonz.  They wuz like da sun an da dark.  Now here me Macy.  HERE ME REEL GOOD.  I never dun looked any ov doze boyz in der faces or eyez, but they dun said I did.  

I dun walkd to go meet Moma one day after school.  Dats wut I wuz suppozed to do.  Meet moma at Mz Bells house.  I wood do a da sweepin dat needed to be dun.  When I dun got der I walked round da house to da back.  Now my clothez wuz still small cuz Mz Mary wuz much biger than me.  But I wuz a bit biger than Mz Bell.  Dats da clothez I wuz gettin.  Mz Bells old old clothz.  Mama sed to preciate all we got an wear dem if I wuz gonna be der.  Her shirt fit me reel tight cross my growin’ chest.  Moma sed my bodee parts wuz growin sumpin wild.  I wuz jus reel quiet when she wood talk like dat.  I dun come round dat house and Mz Bells bad son wuz sitin’ on a stump with a long twig in hiz hand.  He looked at me sumpin rong Macy.  He looked sumpin rong.  I jus went to da back door and der wuzn’t no way da door wood open.  He started laffin’ sumpin rong.  He told me wuzn’t no one home.  

I dun turned to walk down da path I had come round to, but he wuz in my way.  He got reel close like to me and sed he dun seen me lookin’ at him.  I told him I hadn’t been lookin’ at nobuddy.  He dun slapped me sumpin’ hard in my face for sassin him.  Dats wut he sed Macy, I dun sassed him.  He took dat twig and dun poked my chest.  He kept on pokin and tole me to take my shirt off.  I dun sed no.  I new wut he wuz gonna do.  But Macy wuznt no boy gonna be on top me like Mz Suzanas son gain.  Not never.  He dun push me and wit all my power, I dun push dat boy rite on back to the ground.  Den I dun run round dat house and he dun cot up wit me and grabbed and ripped my shirt clear off.  I didn’t have no things on under it, so chest wuz showin’.  Moma told me only my husband wuz suppoze to see me like dat.  But I didn’t care.  I kept runnin’.  

I felt him grab my sholeder and push me.  I don’t know wut hapend, cuz I woke up in Mz Bellz house in da back room on a cot.  My hed dun hurt sumpin’ awful and I wuz lookin’ at Mz Bellz mean moma.  I think she wuz happy wuzn’t dead cause she started prayin sumpin.  Mz Bell came runin on nex to her moma an den I saw Moma.  She was cryin’ wen she dun grabbed and hugged me sumpin tite.  It wuz a bit odd cuz Mz Bellz mean moma wuz bein reel nise to me and rubbin my hed. 

Afder dat der day, I wuznt loud to go round der no more.  Mz Bell dun taked cared ov uz reel nise, but hur moma wuz reel meen like.  She dun hated uz.  I never did see dat son ov herz again.  Sed he went to liv wit sum hiz momas people dat lived sumwhere in a difrent state.  To munts later, my Moma told me why.  She dun told me everything dat dun happend dat day wit Mz Bellz son.  Don’t member much bout da storee, but I new my bodee parts done got me to have a babee inside me.  Yes Macy.  Dat is why Mz Bellz son had to go far away.  He dun gave me a babee dat der day wen I dun hit me hed.

 

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Taken VI

Taken IV
By: Mia L. Hazlett
9/29/11

I scrubbed my body, hoping to wash Mark and his lust away. He disappeared all day yesterday. There was actually joy when I eased myself between my sheets last night. Usually he didn’t come home for days. I prayed for a reprieve. Unfortunately, he returned home horny at close to three in the morning.

I turned the water off and stepped from the shower. My hair dripped as I lightly toweled off my bruised body. I breathed a bit easier, but I needed to take my mind off of me and stay hopeful for my Jessie’s return. Even though our fight destroyed the lamp on my nightstand, I was able to save my night stand picture of Jessie. I slept with the picture under my pillow every night.

Obviously there was nothing I could do, but this picture was the last piece of Jessie had, less her bedroom. For some reason, Mark had taken down all of her pictures. The first week, he worked relentlessly with the police. Now it seemed like he was over her. I couldn’t understand and that led to our disagreement the other night. Although I wanted my home plastered with her face, I couldn’t endure another thrashing. I curled back under my sheets and clung to my angel’s picture.

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Filed under daughters, fiction, kidnapping, motherhood, Taken, violence

Conundrum (Part IX)

Conundrum (Part IX)
By: Mia L. Hazlett
4/8/11

I debated most of the week whether we would attend the family reunion his aunt invited us to. I thought about it over and over and went with no. I realized my ex (I was still trying to get used to saying that)signed us away. But the problem was, my oldest wasn’t aware of it yet. She still had hope. I had spent all this time trying to lift her spirits with hope. Seeing him at the reunion would crush all her hopes.

I thought I was doing the right thing as a mother, but now I realized how absolutely detrimental hope can be when it is unrequited. He had never hoped for us. Our tears, our love, and our hope were all unrequited. As I cradled my oldest in my arms, I had to question, with these lost hopes so fresh, how was I going to teach her to hope again?

Because at such a tender age, I could not allow her to abandon hope. For without hope in her life, I could not teach her to have faith. Right now it wasn’t about having faith that her hopes would come to pass, but in having faith that God closed the right door and opened one that would exceed abundantly everything she had ever hoped for.

The new doorway was not the source of my angst. I didn’t recognize the woman walking through it. There was a grace and warmth that radiated. Her worries and fears had been cast aside in the light of her newfound hope of peace. And it was because of this hope, God opened the door of Peace. Through all she had carried her family through, she finally turned in the key to Drama, and entered Peace.

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Filed under blessings, children, Christian, Conundrum, daughters, divorce, faith, fiction, God, hope, motherhood

Macy VI

Macy VI
By: Mia L. Hazlett
4/7/11

I woke on Saturday and turned to the #3 envelope on my nightstand. The plan was to read it before I fell into La-la Land, but I wasn’t sure of the content, so I chose sleep. So as held it in my hand, I said a little prayer first. I didn’t know what piece of my ancestry it held for me, but I had to get to know my grandmother since I had now forgiven her.

Well Macy, it wuz not reel nise livin wit my Momma aftr everythin dat dun happend. Wut waznt makin hur happy wuz the frend dat I made in the sistur ov the boy who dun hurt my familee. Hur name wuz Mary. Mary wuz hur name Macy and she uz my frend.

Like I dun told you before Macy my Momma dun cleend the house ov the peeple dat dun killd hur famlee. She startd takn me to wurk with hur. 1 day I wuz cleenin in the kitchin with Momma and Miz Mary came in. Momma kept cookin’ and I kept cleenin the floor. Miz Mary wantd to eet hurself sum lunch so Momma dun made hur a food. Az Momma wuz makin hur food, Miz Marys Momma came in. We dun calld hur Mz. Suzana.

I dont know wut dun hapend in dat dur kitchin Macy but it wuz sumpin. It wuz cuz there wur women in dat kitchin Macy. There wuz a hole bunch of quiet in there, but sumpin dun hapend dat nevr culd ov hapend back den. I meen az far az beein leegul an all. We all dun sat at dat table an ate food togethr. No culurd folk evr got to eet food wit white folk. Dat just nevr hapend. But Macy Mz. Suzana dun sad sumpin to Momma dat made hur cry. She dun said, I sorry. I sorry dat my boyz and huzbin dun hurt your famlee. And den she dun touchd my hand and dun squeezd it. She dun squeezd my hand Macy.

Dat day wuz dat day Macy. It nevr hapend again. But hur sun nevr tuched me again. He dun nevr even lookd at me no more. So dat day wit Miz Mary and Miz Suzana kinda made things beter livin wit Momma. I think Momma got hur sum more money from Miz Suzana and I sure nuf got all of Miz Marys to small cloze. And becuz of dat day Macy you have all this money. Cuz Miz Suzana sqeezd my hand you have this money.

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Conundrum (Part VIII)

Conundrum (Part VIII)
By: Mia L. Hazlett
3/30/11

There was a time in my life that I believed in fairy tales. When I met my husband, I was sure there was a happily ever after ending for us. There was an image of us in our rocking chairs on the front porch of the home we had spent a lifetime building together. We’d watch our grandchildren run about the front yard as we sipped on our lemonade and I rocked my youngest grand baby in my arms. I believed in “till death do us part.”

And even as I sat in the very cold corporate mediation conference room, I still couldn’t accept that this was how it was all going to end. I waited alone at the long highly polished dark mahogany table. Every part of my marriage contradicted the fairy tale I carried around in my mind. Because my entire marriage consisted of the very moment I was experiencing right now, being alone. Even in his presence, I was alone. And now we had arrived at the end and I waited alone.

My loneliness was interrupted by the mediator. Formalities and small talk were exchanged as we waited the arrival of the boy. Time ticked on and the small talk dwindled. And finally after twenty minutes, the little boy entered. He appeared polished from head to toe. His light gait carried an arrogance as he seated himself at the head of the table. So much for our rocking chairs on the front porch.

I remained seated after the short ten minutes of complete devastation took place. Nothing. He wanted nothing. He signed everywhere the mediator told him to sign and left. He left with no wife, no kids, no happily ever after, just an agreement for child support. He initialed and signed it all away.

I’m not sure what hit the floor first, my tears or the pictures of our…my…new daughter that he had never met. I don’t know what compelled me to think he would want to see her, but as the mediator placed the pictures back in my hands, I dried my tears. She would be better off not knowing him anyways. Because the man at conception, was not the boy that just left this room.

I wasn’t devastated because my marriage was over. I wasn’t hurt that he didn’t want me anymore. I was hurt because today my children were stripped of their fairy tale. Their happily ever after had been reduced to a 50/50 statistic.

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Filed under children, Conundrum, daughters, divorce, family, marriage, motherhood

Conundrum (Part VII)

Conundrum (Part VII)
By: Mia L. Hazlett
3/14/11

The silence enveloped the room as I breastfed my daughter and gently rocked us back and forth in the large maple glider my parents had given me. Her ladybug light casted a soft glow in the corner of the room. I watched her suckle and with each blink caught the flashback of this exact moment with each of her sisters. With my oldest, I had this moment on my bed propped up against my pillows in my small studio apartment. I did the same with my second daughter, but it was in our house with her father next to me. I now sat in the makeshift nursery in my friend’s home alone with nothing but dreams and hopes.

The only recent contact I had with my husband was the divorce papers I was served the other day. I couldn’t get my head around the fact that I actually felt sad. We were coming up on a year of being apart and I couldn’t tell you the last time we even talked or he contacted the kids. So why was this hurting? Why when I had embraced and accepted that I was doing this alone, did I feel like I was losing him all over again? I consistently prayed that God hadn’t forgotten me. Sometimes I believed I was just having a pity party, and the rest of the time I tried to hold onto the faith that He had me in the palm of His hand.

I signed the papers and sent them in the return envelope. It was against my faith, but I had to let go. Would God forgive me for giving up? I had continually asked myself this question since I mailed my vows away. But unfortunately my time in prayer had to be spent praying for my strength to support this family and thank my friend for her patience with my situation. I didn’t know if God was going to answer my prayers. I guess part of faith was hope, and I hoped God heard my prayers.

So in the dim glow of the makeshift nursery in my friend’s house, I said a single line to a prayer I had always rehearsed in its entirety, “Thy will be done.” I kissed my daughter and placed her in her tiny bassinet. “Thy will be done.”

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Taken IV

Taken (IV)
By: Mia L. Hazlett
1/13/11

It had been two months since my baby was taken. There were occasional phone calls from the detectives assigned to Jessie’s case. But over all, they were starting to dwindle. It used to be three to four times a week, but now it was only return phone calls. The hardest part to adjust to was the decrease in the search intensity. The first week I functioned completely on adrenaline. It felt like the detectives lived here. Our neighbors did everything to help. The house was never empty. Even the second week, we had relatives and friends in and out. But now there was just us.

My husband held most of the details to the investigation. There was very little that I knew, except that they had not found her. Unfortunately, these past two months, as heart-wrenching as they’d been, had been a reprieve from Mark, my husband, and his brutality. Last night was the first time since we lost her that he’d hit me or should I say beat me. It was with such viciousness that I thought I wouldn’t make it through. There had been times before that I thought that, but last night he unleashed two months of pent up fury.

I touched the mirror instead of my face. My fingers lightly traced my swollen right eye. How my left eye was spared, I’m not sure. The split down my lower lip seemed to cut it right in half. There was a bruise on my left cheek, which was probably the reason for the excruciating pain that shot through my face when I tried to open my mouth. Usually he spared my face, but I guess he knew I wasn’t leaving the house to go anywhere.

The last time I left the house was the morning we went to drop her off for school. It may be selfish, but I wasn’t ready to see other children playing in the neighborhood. I didn’t think I could take hearing the sound of “mommy” coming from a child’s mouth. I sat on the floor in her bedroom and cried myself to sleep most nights. Not to mention my dreams, they rentlessly taunt me.

Sometimes they were memories, sometimes she was running back into my arms completely untouched, but mostly they were nightmares. It was the nightmares that left me drained. There was one that I had consistently. I was at her school and following behind her in the crowded hallways. I could never seem to get close to her, but could hear her distinct little giggle. Out of nowhere, a man came and grabbed her. He was running so fast with her and my legs didn’t move. It was the sound of her screaming, “Mommy help me!”, that always woke me.

“Mommy help me.” Mommy couldn’t even help herself, I thought, as I examined the large bruise on my right side in the mirror. I knew my ribs were broken. A large inhale forced me to double over in pain and brought about a much more painful cough attack. I made my way back into bed. My four pillows offered me the only comfort I think I would find in the next couple of nights as I tried to heal my wounds. I could only pray that my darling Jessie was safe right now. As much as I missed my angel, I was grateful she was not here to listen to my cries for help.

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Filed under daughters, family, fiction, kidnapping, Taken

Conundrum (Part VI)

Conundrum (Part VI)
By: Mia L. Hazlett
1/13/11

The test of strength forced itself upon my shoulders. My inner conflict of not wanting him in my life, battled the need of wanting to hold his hand as the contractions rippled their stifling pain to every delicate nerve in my body. But for each brief set of minutes that my body was given reprieve from the brutal attacks, I hated myself for thinking about him at a time that had nothing to do with him. So I had to force myself to focus on the voice of the nurse and not on the thoughts of abandonment.

That is what he had done to us. He had abandoned us. There were no more phone calls. The visits with our daughters had ceased . He had even gone so far as changing his phone number. Luckily I had made us a family before he left, so his disappearance was not surprising. Disappointing, yes. Surprising, no. I hate to say that it bordered relief, but I had released his failures to God, and kept it moving. I had no choice but to stand strong and guide my daughters through the loss of their father.

I tossed from side to side and when I opened my eyes, God took over. All thoughts of him left me as I tuned into my surroundings and felt my friend holding my hand and telling me how soon this would all be over. My oldest sat across the room on a loveseat and held her sister’s hand. Her anxious eyes never left me, and offered me more comfort than his hand ever could.

At the first cry of my new daughter, my past eight months no longer mattered. God had given me a new start and I wasn’t going to give a second thought to my past. Their future depended on me staying in the present. I cradled my new joy, with her sisters’ welcome crowding. As we crammed in the small mechanical bed, I made their sister the same promise I had made them when they were born; I was going to give her the world.

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