I'm Still Your Mom

Dresden, Ontario, Canada

I’m Still Your Mom

by

Debb Pitel

––––––––

First Electronic Edition October 2020

Copyright © 2020 Debb Pitel

All Rights Reserved

Cover Art Copyright © 2020 Danielle VonHollen

ISBN: 978-1-7773848-1-4 

This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means - electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise - except for the use of brief quotations in articles or reviews - without prior written permission from the publisher.

What People are Saying About I’m Still Your Mom

I’m Still Your Mom is a page-turning memoir that reads more like fiction than an autobiography. The reader immediately finds themselves rooting for the story’s outgoing country girl as she navigates a tale of love and loss in many forms. Instead of turning away, it invites us to take an intimate look at often unspoken subjects – parental emotional abandonment, poverty, domestic violence, suicide and grief. It offers a vulnerable and raw testament of what it truly means to be a survivor, shining a bright light on the dark shame that victims of trauma silently carry each day. And ultimately it reminds us, that although we can never truly understand the depth of heartache another person has endured, perhaps the next best thing is to pause, lean in and fully listen to their words without judgement. Thus, acknowledging the strength of the human spirit and allowing greater healing for all. 

~ Dr. Lisa Thompson

I started reading this book and I could not put it down.  Debb’s story is overwhelming; I laughed, I cried, it is outstanding!  This mom lost her son due to mental health and her courage to share her story will touch your soul. Though incredibly hard to write such a book, Debb has told the world what they need to know to make a difference.  This book WILL make a difference. 

~Melanie P. Hayden-Sparks

Dedication

Over the years, I have shared memories and stories with so many people. Some have made you laugh; others, we sat in silence. I have cried many tears with so many of you.

I have heard, You should write a book! so many times, and my reply was always the same, Who would want to read it?

To my family, friends, and so many others that have supported and inspired me. This is our book.

I love you all.

Tyler was born October 6, 1986, the most beautiful little boy, he was my second child. I fell in love at first sight. I knew in my heart that my job as a mother was to love, nurture and protect. What I didn’t know is that the journey of a mother’s love and loss would take me down a road that would test my endurance and change me forever.

This is my journey.

I’m Still Your Mom

Chapter One

I tried hard to write the most amazing opening page. A page that you the reader would rush through with uncontrollable excitement, turn the page and not stop until the book was done leaving you amazed, shocked and fulfilled in some way. How am I doing so far? Truth be told, my story has been written and revised and reviewed for over 50 years. There is no once upon a time or happily ever after. Sorry to spoil the ending. But there is a story to be shared a journey that has led me to write this book. Writing the book opens my personal battles, old scars and all the emotions that go with it. I’ve done this in hopes that you can share one thing with someone who can relate to my story that will inspire them, so here we go.

Tyler was born October 6, 1986, the most beautiful little boy in every way. Tyler was my second son. Both times, I fell in love at first sight. I knew very quickly I was put on this earth to be a mom. I knew my perfect job would be to love, nurture, teach and protect my children. What I did not know was the journey of a mother’s love and loss would take me down a road that would test my endurance and change me forever.

This is my journey.

As much as I want to keep going from this point, I think its only fair to you to catch you up. So, I really need to start long before motherhood. My journey, my childhood specifically, I am sure it will be familiar to most. I had two brothers Mark 3 years older and Stephen 5 years older. We lived in a small community and like most small towns everyone knew everyone. We all played baseball, a sport my father loved. We had a 100-acre farm, cash crop and livestock. I am not sure if there was an animal that we did not have there at one time or another. My dad moved from one big idea to the next. Cows, rabbits, chinchillas, goats, pigs. I am not sure whether it was a get rich idea or a way to support his family. I just know there was always something changing. The only constant was the horses.

My parents raised registered quarter horses. Mostly buckskin but they bred, broke and trained many. We always had a bunch and I loved seeing them in the field and learning how to ride. Our family spent many summers at horse shows as far back as I can remember. First watching my parents, then my brothers, then eventually me. I was hooked on horses just like most little girls. I knew going in, the work and commitment it required. It certainly did not turn me off because here I am 55 years later, and I can look out my window and see 5 of our own. All I know is that, thinking back to my younger life, it was good and simple. I also knew very quickly at that age that privileges were earned and showing horse was on that list. If you did not do your chores you did not go. There were consequences for your behaviour and even more for poor decisions. Expectations were high and that was how it was. Kids were raised to listen and not question, parents were respected and always right.

I know my dad worked us hard, my brothers more so than me. I never questioned whether he was harder on us, more than other dads, I was too young to think about that. I knew he worked hard, he had a short temper and we learned quickly to avoid it; yet he was amazing in many ways to a daughter. My mom was mostly a stay-at-home wife and mother. She spent her time in the house and the gardens caring for our family. We knew we were loved, and our home was always neat as a pin.

My dad went to work in the plants, shift work which made things harder. I can appreciate now, having a farm and kids, and both of us working fulltime, how hard it is and was to juggle it all. He had long days and then the farm when he got home, maybe it was too much? But the stress was high, and we all had to do our share. I do not know what was told to the boys, but I knew we were expected to fill in whenever needed, whether we qualified for the job or not. Sundays were for church and ice cream if we were lucky. Yes, I was the baby and the only girl. The three of us kids attended a small community public school. We would come home from school and change out of our school clothes, that was non-negotiable and start on our chores. There was time for play and TV but not for fights and disagreements or mouthing back. My mom was deadly with the fly swatter if we overstepped. We knew if we would push her to that point, Dad would reinforce that decision when he got home. It was a different time back then, and that is all we knew.

I never knew the details but one day, my dad came home from work. He had quit his job, and said he was opening his own business. He was not working shift work anymore and he started his own electrical company. I was young and just thought, great he will be home more, no more going to work on Christmas morning or needing to be really quiet so he could sleep before going into work.

I look back and think of simplicity, not sadness. We had time with friends, we enjoyed horses and a few road trips, mostly camping. As far as I knew I was just a normal kid, a country kid. Friends would come and go at our house. Our parents would socialize and go to dances on Saturday night and there was really nothing that seemed out of place. To anyone who looked, we were a perfect family and family ‘business’ stayed within the walls of our home. If I ever questioned anything growing up, it was quickly dismissed so I stopped questioning out loud, but struggled on the inside. I just felt like I was missing something. I know now looking back that our parents had convinced us that our family life was normal. They had painted this perfect picture to all who would listen, and it was repeated so often we just eventually believed it too. Once l had lived enough life to realize how things really were, all that was ‘normal’ about my childhood began to slip away. The unexplained feelings started to unfold, and the childhood memories transformed into a reality that I now had to live with.

As a kid, you don't know what you don't know, thank God. I knew when my oldest brother left home at an early age, there were many arguments, yelling and fights between the three of them and something was off. There were lots of whispers and conversations that stopped abruptly when I walked into the room. But at no point, at the age of 9 or 10, did I question what I was told, why would I? There were always those ‘not in front of the kids’ conversations that adults had. That was all very common and familiar. They told me he was old enough to live on his own, move away to work and start his own life. As a kid, you did not question that. I simply believed them, and he left.

Soon after we moved to a great big home with a nice barn, beautiful yard and left the farm and work behind. We still had horses to take care of but now it was Mark and I only and the work was minimal. Moving was great! I loved the nice big house, but life was different; you could feel it. Soon after the move, my mom showed up with a beautiful horse named Stormy. She was clear that she had bought him, but we could share him. He needed so much love, locked in a barn away from people for so long and here I was wanting to be locked away from the world. We were a perfect team.

The older I got, the more I could feel the undercurrent of unease at our house. I was not sure what was going on with my parents, but the stress was obvious. Once Stormy came, he was my escape. He listened to every heartache and milestone and stayed close to me through every tear. From a young girl’s thoughts, my parents were loving, supportive, hard-working and wonderful people. But too often in my childhood, my father would step outside the lines and cloud my judgment between right and wrong, leaving me wondering who the man was that I was watching? Did he know I was watching? Did he care?

My dad’s choices to disrespect the boundaries of his marriage were made throughout my childhood. He found no guilt in knowing it affected all us. We never spoke of it but we all knew. His actions changed my viewpoint on men, marriage and commitment for the rest of my life. I hated living by rules my parents set for us that didn’t apply to them. I struggle with that everyday. He would say things and do things that made me and my friends feel uncomfortable. My struggle with these feelings showed up and caused nothing but conflict. I was defiant, disrespectful, and angry and my home life was beyond uncomfortable. Some days and weeks were great when we all got along well and then, in the flick of a switch, I watched it all unravel again and again. Never knowing details, but I got really good at filling in the blanks.

I was in my early teens and wanted nothing but my horse. Will T was our horse trainer, but even more, a family friend. We travelled on weekends together to horse shows. He helped me so much with my riding and even more with home life. He stepped in like a brother, I knew he understood and his encouragement was more than just showing my horse. At that age, I felt like I was running from something; I just never gave it a name.

The marriage my parents shared was never discussed in front of us kids, but it was no secret that there were problems. They tried early on to hide it for the most part and I was young enough to believe the explanations.

By the time I was 14, my parents were less concerned about what I knew and what I did not. My father’s actions had not changed and my mother’s struggles to deal with it became worse. When they were fighting, that reason was usually why. I guess that is when my mom decided I was old enough to know the truth or she chose me as her ‘someone to talk to’. We had frequent conversations where she decided to share details that a daughter did not need to know about her dad. My mom hated that I favoured my dad and even though his behaviour was questionable and upsetting, I looked up to my dad. He took my side against my mom and I looked the other way at his behaviour, not wanting to believe it and I was trying to fit in somewhere while trying to get along. I felt I was old enough to ask about and question what my mom had told me. His answers were always the same; he would say that she was lying or she was crazy, that her mom was like this too, and that she’d been like this her entire life. I’m not sure if either one thought that me hearing both sides would help, but it didn’t. I loved my parents, but the people I was living with were not the parents I knew anymore. It was impossible to be caught in the middle and live there.

Life got very real, extremely fast and I wanted out. One too many fights, one too many arguments and one very rebellious angry teenager girl living so far out in the country, so far from her friends, she felt like she had no one. That year was about to open opportunities that I was not emotionally strong enough to deal with.

My brother Mark graduated high school and the school board decided I would have to change schools. I was no longer eligible to be bussed to the high school, where all my friends I grew up with attended. I had just finished grade 9; I had just started high school. But the board of education transferred me to a Sarnia high school. I did not know a single person. It wasn’t a great time in my life. Home had become a ticking time bomb with everyone walking on eggshells. I was gone more than I was home and when I was, we fought. All my new friends lived in Sarnia, a 45-minute drive or they were back in Petrolia, just as far. There was nothing for me at home except my horse. My parents made me feel so unwanted, like I was in the way. Mark still lived at home but unlike me, he kept a low profile and stayed out of trouble. Life was complicated and staying away was easier than admitting to myself what I was figuring out on my own. It was better than seeing my dad for what he was and not who he had been to me my entire life. I was daddy’s little girl, but he was not the man I looked up to anymore.

I came home one day to find my horse was not in the barn and ran to the house to ask why. My mom just said, We sold him. You were not putting in the time and he was not going to stand in the barn, so he is gone. Not a word, not a care in the world for how devastating this would be for me. Her words cut through me like a knife. It was my fault, right or wrong. I was crushed. This was payback for my behaviour. She would not tell me who bought him, where he went and if her