Saying No

For 21 years my mother couldn't say no to save her life. Finally, when I was 13 years old she stood up to the monster that was my father. A final, reverberating no, that shook the household.

She'd been without the word for their entire relationship. Even from the first day he came up to her after their church choir practice, fingers stained with nicotine, breath slightly rancid, and asked her for a date. A simple "No" would have served her much better than the demure response she gave him. With this first needling into her he began exploiting his newfound power; the woman who couldn't say no.

He drifted from job to job, apartment to apartment all the while asking and never receiving a "no." There were hesitations, and late night fights, but the word was always caught in the back of my mother’s throat.

She thought if she said it, no one would love her again. That this man, who said he loved her, but treated her in none of the classical ways we would define as love, was her one and only shot at that universal feeling.

But then children came, a son and a daughter, a new home, changes in scenery, a different place. The word had still gone unsaid, and she hoped it wouldn't have to be. She saw there was compassion there, there was an inner core to this angry man. And "no" would only serve to keep that core hidden. 

But, it was too much. Her children were learning the power of no, they were fighting him with words, and he was fighting back with fists. Tears were more common than smiles, and when I was 13 years old she finally said no.

She said no to being yelled at, to seeing the tears in the mirror, and her stained reflection in her children. She said no to the slamming doors, and late night fights, ending in her alone on the mattress and him alone in the garage chain smoking cigarettes. She said no to her children growing up in that toxic environment. 

I can never tell her enough how much I love her for finally saying no.