A Man Named Dave

immediately after New Year’s. Why, I asked myself – as I now discovered the sprayed-on snowflakes still in that window in the middle of May – would Mother not tidy up the one element of her life that had meant so much to her?
    This went far beyond being lazy, I thought. If Mother hadn’t taken care of Christmas decorations with summer approaching, when would she? Unless … Oh, my God! I said to myself. Mother knew … she somehow knew her time was limited.
    Her hands were again shaking, and by habit Mother covered one with the other. But as her hands twitched with more intensity, she struggled to take another drink. Peering deep into her eyes, I stated, “Don’t quit. Don’t try to stop drinking.”
    Mother’s face lit up. “You … you understand? ”
    I nodded. As I stood in front of Mother, my eyes scanned her every feature, in the vain hope of finding the person I had worshiped as a tiny child – the person I had so longed to love me. Yet, as I closed my eyes, I could not give Mother the humanity I gave to total strangers. With all the compassion I could muster, I swallowed hard before saying, “Go in peace.”
    As if she did not hear me, she lifted her head.
    Feeling weak, I swallowed before repeating myself in a quavering tone. “I wish you no pain … Only for you to go – to go in peace.”
    “Yes, well, that’s nice …” Mother said in her old condescending tone.
    “No!” I lashed out, pointing my finger in her face. Raising my voice, I could feel my legs shudder. “Don’t you even … don’t you spoil it. Not after all you’ve done. This is not one of your little games that you can manipulate. You have … no one, nothing left. Just stop it! For once put away your bullshit and do what’s right, for God’s sake!” I pleaded, on the verge of tears. “I swear to you, with all of my honor, I wish you no pain, no suffering, I only wish you peace.” I paused as my chest seemed to heave. Calming myself, I said in a controlled voice. “That’s all I can … that’s the best I can do.”
    Mother’s eyes tried to bore right through me. After a few moments, her intensity softened. I slowly shook my head back and forth. Without saying the words, I mouthed, “I can’t. I can’t do that.”
    With a nod Mother showed that she understood. Perhaps she had thought that by calling me during her emotional state, I would rush over and anoint her with forgiveness. To my own dismay, and after a lifetime of constantly proving my worthiness to others, I did not – I could not – forgive Mother.
    As I walked down the stairs to the door Mother shouted from her chair. “David?”
    “Yes, Ma’am?”
    “I want you to know …” She stopped as if to collect herself.
    “I, uh, I’m proud of you. You turned out fine. I am proud of you, David Pelzer.”
    I turned, looked up the staircase, and uttered a quick prayer before closing the door behind me.
     
    Mother died of a heart attack in her sleep in January 1992. Twenty-four hours later, on Mulberry Street just outside Salt Lake City, all five Pelzer brothers joined together. Initially it was awkward for all of us, until Ron came up and hugged me. There was so much to say, but we didn’t seem to know how to begin. Over a matter of days, as the five of us talked to each other, I felt overtaken both by shame for what all of us had experienced and pity for the life Mother had lived. We spent nearly every waking moment covered with stench and grime while we gutted out Mother’s dilapidated house. Just before Mother’s funeral, as we cleaned out her bedroom, one of us came across Mother’s wedding portrait. I had seen the photo countless times, but for the first time I realized how stunning she was. Mother’s face seemed silky smooth and her hair glistened, but what took me aback was her eyes. They seemed to radiate with pure joy. Mother’s expression gave me the feeling that she was about to embark on an incredible life filled with happiness. With the frame shaking in my hand, I emptied my chest. I forgave her. I forgave “The Mother”. Over the past several years, after I had visited Mother the summer of 1987,I had wavered on how I felt about her. When I had sat in front of mother just a few weeks before she died, I came within a heartbeat of stating my forgiveness. But because of giving myself away so many times, for so many years, only to appease others, in hope of their acceptance, I hesitated. Then, because of Stephen, part of me detested her. But, as I became involved with others who struggled, in