As a very young child, not understanding many things like any child. Though I had more than my share of experiences that I did not know other children did not.
I remember this as far back as about 3; I know I wasn’t very old when it started - my brother was a baby and my little sister hadn’t been born as of yet. You know, as childhood events occurred it was more who was there and what your bedroom looked like, not what year it was.
I had a playmate named Mary. She seemed about my age and a lot like me. We would play for hours in my bedroom, singing and tea parties. Moreover, mostly I remember we loved each other very much. Mary was my best friend.
As a child, I also had other neighborhood friends that lived next door and so on, but I would rather be in my room with Mary. We shared a lot, she really liked my mom and we would talk about all of my family and all of our dreams. At that time our dreams were all the candy in the world, pretty dolls and she seemed so interested in my life. She actually went with me sometimes to ballerina lessons to visit my grandmother. It was if all I had to do was call her and she was there for me.
I didn’t have an especially wonderful childhood and Mary would cry with me. She liked my dad a lot, though my brother was scared of her. Mary in my life was very real.
Our favorite was singing loudly, since we thought we were so good at it. My mother did not allow many friends in our home; she actually did not care much for kids being around. Mary never went outside with me. We both thought it was grand when my daddy bought me a Little Hostess Buffet, it was beautiful. Mary and I had many hours of fun serving Kings and Queens, all in a child’s imagination.
My mother, after having mentioned Mary to her, told my father that I had an over-active imagination. I seemed to live in this dream world, with an imaginary playmate and she felt it was not healthy. When I confronted mom after hearing her say this to my dad (I was spying on them), I told her Mary was real and she even liked mom and dad. My mother refused that I even bring that name up again in our home.
One afternoon, Mary and I were singing loudly. My grandmother had sung a song to me since I was little, “Beautiful Dreamer.” Mary and I both knew all the words and it happened to be the first song I later learned how to play on my clarinet. Mom banged on my door and said she told me I was not allowed to have friends in and when she opened the door, she saw only me. Mom stood there for a moment and told me not to sing that song anymore. Therefore, we did not.
Mary was a big part of my growing up between quite young and around five years old, maybe six or so.
I wanted Mary to meet my other friends but she did not want to. In addition, if I went out to play, she never seemed mad at me or hurt. However, sometimes I would not see her for a couple days.
As I got older, I noticed Mary was different from my other friends. Mary never got mad at me and she was always dressed the same. As I got older, I realized she was not of this world in a way. Mary having been my friend for years, I was not scared, but I wanted to know. I asked Mary where she lived, she did not say. One day we were under the covers and she said to ask mom. Therefore, I did.
I asked my mom who Mary was. I told her she is a lot like me and Mary loved her a lot. I will never forget my mom sitting on a stool in the kitchen, somehow angry at me and at the same time crying her eyes out. Next thing you know, Mom is on the phone telling her mother, my grandma, that she needs to take me for awhile. Therefore, mom took me to grandma’s house. In addition, I kept it up. Do you know Mary, grandma?
Let me say first, my grandparents were blind and we had a closeness that I had with nobody else in my family. My grandmother seemed shocked, surprised and asked me about Mary. I told her she was my best friend in the world. I will never forget grandma opening up her kitchen drawer and pulling out a baby spoon. She gave it to me and then she started telling me about Mary, my half-sister, who had died years ago. My grandmother was very spiritual and a sensitive and warned me not to go telling my mom anything about this again.
I did not get all the details, but grandma thought Mary must love me very much. I told grandma she was a lot like me, we liked almost everything the same. My grandmother asked me to keep quiet about this, it was hurting my mom and when I got older, she would explain it all to me someday.
When I started school, Mary seemed to be around less and less. Finally, I never saw her anymore. Although some days, I would come home to find my Little Suzy Buffet arranged perfectly, or my dolls tenderly taken care of, which as I got older, I ignored increasingly. Nevertheless, it seemed Mary was taking care of them for me. I did not see her anymore, but she let me know she was there in many loving ways. I kept quiet, true to my grandmother’s wishes.
When I was 12 years old, one day my parents were out and I decided to rummage through their closet. I do not know why, just snooping as so many kids do sometimes. What I found not only shocked me, it hurt me. I was so angry. I felt lied to by my parents. Everything I found that had been kept from me, I lay out on the kitchen table and waited for them to come home. Mostly it was a family album of my mom with some man and other kids. Three other kids to be exact and one of them looked like Mary from what I could remember.
It was the wrong thing to do and heartless on my part, but I was only 12 years old. I felt deceived, they had another life and they didn’t tell me! I did not realize how much this was going to hurt my mom, and it did.
When she saw the album, which I had opened to the picture of this “family” that wasn’t ours, I asked her, “who are they, why are you with them? What about us? Who are you?” My mom started crying and told me the whole story, after 5 minutes I didn’t want to hear anymore, Mary was her daughter from a previous marriage; my half-sister, and she had been murdered by her own father.
My mom made me listen to all of it; her ex-husband had murdered all three kids and was in jail for life. She said she did not think she would ever live again, but my father was such a wonderful person she tried life again.
Mom also told me, she was as sensitive as me. In addition, it bothered her that I had made up stories, and she then realized I was too young to make them all up. She always felt she was not there to save her children from this crazy father that killed them; my mom carried a lot of guilt about that. Mom said it scared her that her “other” children somehow blamed her for not saving them. I told mom, “Mary loves you a lot mom.” I told mom I did not have any contact with her anymore, except when I would notice my things were arranged differently and with a lot of care.
Moreover, after I told mom Mary loved her, I never felt Mary again. I think she wanted mom to know that. Mary was a little less than four years old when she died. Moreover, she only wanted her mommy to know she loved her and did not blame her. Somehow, I was the conduit for that between them.
In addition, after that, I truly believe my Mary was able to rest in peace.
This is dedicated to my sister Mary Julia Harrison.
In loving memory... your sister Peggy
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