Dolls from a Different Mother ©

Christmas 1993. We were living in Indio, Ca. Not much to say about the hot little desert town that we were forced to uproot and move to. It seems odd, that even in the midst of extreme DV, I was grateful I did not have to move as I lived in the same house for my first 17 years. So it’s not too unusual that I would want that kind of stability for my children as well. I made my usual trek to the post office to check mail and purchase some stamps. A large package was waiting for me. I didn’t recognize the name as I couldn’t read it. My only thought was that it’s Christmas and perhaps my Dad has sent the girls some gifts. Unusual because he normally sent them money or gift cards. I returned to the apartment and as I entered I realized the girls were playing in their bedroom and I would have a few minutes before they realized I was home so I proceeded to open the package. I could have never prepared myself for what I found. The first gift was a beautifully wrapped brown haired doll with accessories and extra clothing and as I removed it from the box, I saw yet another doll, but this one was not packaged like the first one. She was dingy and dirty and truly appeared to have been removed from a garbage can and slightly brushed off. Each gift had a tag attached to it with names of their intended recipients. The first one was for my oldest daughter and the second was for my youngest. I immediately began to cry trying not to be too loud as I didn’t want the girls to hear me. I searched the box for anything to determine where the dolls came from. I found a Christmas card, also used and signed by my ex’s mother. At this point, I realized my tears had been replaced by anger. Not only did his mother hate me but now her disdain was filtering down to my precious lil girl. Did she really believe that I would give my baby girl this ugly dirty doll and to my oldest, the pretty, clean and new doll or was she simply doing this to hurt me? I could hear the girls calling me from their bedroom so I hurried and placed the dolls back in the box and closed the top. I peaked in their room and said I was putting something in the car and would be right back. Later that afternoon, I drove to a department store to purchase another doll, one that was at least equivalent to the one my oldest received. I was able to find one and she looked just like my beautiful lil girl. When I returned home, I hid the dolls in my closet and then proceeded to tell my ex what his mother had done. He behaved as though he was upset however I knew, by this point, he and his mother were two peas in a pod so his acting job didn’t work for me. I wish I could say this was the last time she made an attempt to hurt me and my children but unfortunately there were many more instances when she made every effort to draw blood. It comes as no surprise as my ex told me, his mother had abused him and then gave him up for adoption at age 14 years, to his aunt and uncle who lived in central California and they too abused him. I suppose this makes sense as he was abusive to me and she was abusive toward me and the daughter who looked like me.

Familial curses are real and they will continue to wreck havoc as long as you allow them. However, at the time, I had no clue how deeply this evil would run and for how long.

Christmas came and went. I had repackaged the dolls and never told the girls about the original gifts and who they were from. I simply placed new tags on them with their names and from Mom.

The only gifts my ex ever bought for the girls were things of a religious origin and were always meant to shame them. And so the curse will continue for many more years.

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