After I broke my cellphone, and after I panicked about the money needed to replace it, I decided that I needed to tell my mother that I am living in a homeless shelter. If, God forbid, something were to happen to me in Dallas, no-one actually knows where I am. First I went to Coping Skills group at Genesis Outreach (for survivors of domestic abuse) and we talked about using music to lift our spirits. We all agreed that any music by Mozart was the best at changing a hurting mood into a cheerful mood. After the session, I phoned my mom and told her that I was homeless in Dallas. It was really hard to do. It kind of is her fault because my step-father agreed to send me rent money and then didn’t – but in no way would I ever want to punish my mother for that or to make her feel badly. It was tricky to explain it without explaining it. My mom understood the mess anyhow. She is a genius, after all. She cried. I cried. We cried together. I am crying just trying to type this. I told her that I think she is a hero. I always admired her for leaving a husband who beat her and raped her. I said, “Mom, I know many women whose husbands beat them and raped their children even, and they didn’t leave their husbands! You are so brave.” As soon as I blurted it out, I realized I should not have phrased it quite like that; but my faux-pas did not consciously register with her. My mom was stammering. I triggered her memories of abuse and how he was only too eager to discard her once he considered her burdensome to his plans for world domination. I expected to upset her with my news, but I did not realize that I would trigger her. She could be having a nervous breakdown right now for all I know. God, I hope not. Recently I complained that when I ask my mommy for love, she writes me a check. Well I told her outright that this time, I needed the check. Again (or still) I was crying because if she were to cut me off now, I don’t know what I would do or where I could go. My mom told me not to cry and that she would take care of everything. Seriously, I know that all my support comes from Hashem, but instead of dropping a gold brick on my head, he funnels the money thru my parents. I am so grateful that I have a family who helps me. Most of the women in my dorm have brothers and sisters, children and grandchildren nearby; but they don’t take them in. I don’t understand that. If my brother needed a place to stay, I would never turn him away. What is happening to this world? While I was crying out to my mother, in a way that I don’t think I ever have, our family’s psychic link kicked in and my brother tried to call me, too. Then my mother immediately called my sister and she started messaging me from Ft. Lauderdale. It was the closest thing to family unity that I had seen in years. We really do love each other even if we are all extremely damaged. Within an hour of getting off the phone, my mom had put $400 US in the bank for me. That’s shelter rent for a month, plus a bus pass. Since the phone call, I feel very fragile. I’ve been crying off and on for hours now. I know it’s good for me to cleanse and empty my pain. I feel such tightness in my shoulder muscles. I still have no information about the future. Will Hashem keep me in the homeless shelter? Will I get to return to Israel? Will my step-father seize the opportunity to cut me off financially and hopefully kill me? I just don’t know. But I feel relieved that I turned to my mommy to comfort me. I hope I didn’t open her old wounds in the process of sealing my own.
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