The Smell of Beer

It was 3:30 when I walked through the front door from school. Mom was still asleep on the couch and beer cans were still on the coffee table, the house reeked of beer. I reached for the air freshener and sprayed all around the whole house. My sister Bonnie came through the door minutes after me, heading straight for our bedroom throwing her books on her bed she then headed for the kitchen where I was standing with the air freshener.

We had 30 minutes to race and get all the cleaning up done, ridding the house of all my mother's empty beer cans before my dad got home, presenting a spotless house on his arrival. As usual, we kicked into gear without a word. Bonnie grabbed a large paper grocery bag from under the sink that I stood in front of ready to wash the dishes my mother didn't wash during the day. Bonnie quickly headed for the front room without waking my mother. We didn't dare wake her because the longer she slept the soberer she would be when my dad got home, thus making a more peaceful evening. Bonnie quietly picked up all the empty beer cans off the coffee table and headed for the back door as I got busy washing up all the dishes and wiping down the table and sweeping the floor.

When my mother and father met right before the end of the war, my father was just about finished with his navy duties when he would come into town on leave, together they would go out to the famous nightclubs on Geary Street in San Francisco and party until the places closed. They would be joined by my momother'srother, his wife and some new friends they made. Together they would listen to big band music and drink highballs until the party was over and time to go home, it was all a part of the celebration at their ages.

After the war, my father married my mother taking on two children of hers from a previous marriage. Then soon afterward my sister Candy was born. After countless nights of partying with the neighbors and waking up to people sleeping on the floor, beer cans all over the house and my mother drunk beyond belief, with young children making their own breakfast, my father woke up one morning and said loudly "THIS IS ENOUGH!". He kicked the neighbors out, woke my mother up to take care of the new baby girl who was being watched by my older brother and sister and proclaimed his new rules. He'd had enough of drunken nights and the feeling of doing wrong by his children and loudly told her "NO MORE DRINKING, THAT'S IT! No more booze was allowed in this house ever again after that morning.

From that moment on my father stuck to his words, he never touched another drink the rest of his life or smoked again, nor would he ever even be in the presence of anyone that did, but my mother was unable to live up to his standards.


Bonnie made the climb over our neighbor 6" chain link fence on her way to empty the day's beer cans that lingered in our house. A deal was made with my mother and the neighbor allowing her to dump the remains of her drinking in exchange for cash they always needed. I dried the freshly washed dishes then put them away, Bonnie and I took turns vacuuming each day. Laundry needed to be put away and now since the house was clean mother needed to wake up to start dinner and once again be a normal happy family.

The sheer panic I always felt when walking home from school not knowing what was to be expected, became second nature to me and my sisters. We together assumed the responsibility not knowing when this all came about. Was it an unconscious action on our part not wanting any trouble with my father seeing my mother drunk, or if at some point we were told to do my mothers work. It was never clear to me until this day, nor did I know that our family was so different than the others around us. It was never talked about.

I can still recall at least two occasions when my father found beer cans and this lead to a brutal fight with my mother who was turned over the kitchen sink where my father bitterly screaming at her. She was crying while he proceeded to pop open the cans and pour them one after another over her head while yelling at her. Those were the times I wished he were dead and wrote: "I hate my father" on my pillow case with ink one morning during one of these fights, as I remember well this was my first introduction to God during these times.

Despite the risk of it all, my mother still found a way to hide her beers by keeping them in my top dresser underwear's drawer, slipping one of my t-shirts over the popped top or a sock to cover it and keep it hidden from my father. This is why she would occasional come into my room and take sips throughout the night with my father unaware or wondering why she keeps going in our room and closing the door throughout the night, every night! I hated the smell of beer, most of all going too school and smelling it while in class I always worrying if others around me could smell it as well. Most of my childhood memories were mixed with this as a constant routine.

This went on for years or more until she grew sick and continually complained of back aches, then we started noticing her stomaching growing as if she were pregnant. It wasn't until I was 15 and my older sister Candy who was already divorced with 2 small children living back at home, attending to my mother while she was ill, Bonnie had since moved out living with the father of her child. When my sister Candy called me into the bathroom and asked me to help bathe my mother because she was not feeling well, then I got a glimpse of what was happening to her, seeing her that size stomach on a woman who all her life had a nice slim body was shocking to me.

Her body has wasted away, her stomach was the size of a watermelon and she couldn't have weighed any more than 90 pounds. I was sick seeing her body looking like a starved African child she had once used as an example scolding me for not eating my food because there were people who would kill to have the food I had. Here she was looking like a photo of the one's she used as in national geography as an example to bribe me from some third world country. Days later my Father's denial after all these years must have turned around and for once he saw some reality, and between he and my sister they called an ambulance and had her put in the hospital. I was only told to leave the house while they take her away, so I went to a friends house and never discussed it with anyone never knowing fully what was going on, no one ever sat me down and explained.

This was also a time I learned about intuition, it was my first introduction to seeing into the future which has been rare for me but when I do, I always remember my first experience with my mother.

While my mother was in the hospital, she had been there for about a month or more, my father received a phone call of urgency one day after work, so he and my sister Candy left me at home to babysit her two young daughters as they went to say their goodbyes to her.  I had asked the young girl next door named Janie to come over and help me because it didn't look good from what Candy had said to me before she left with my dad, "Momma may not make it through the night she slipped into a Colma," I remained calm because I had no emotion at this point about my mothers dying I didn't know what to make of it all, all I knew was it wasn't fair that I didn't get to go and say my goodbyes to her rather she heard me or not, it just didn't feel right to me deep inside. Janie would help me because I didn't feel much like watching any kids.

I stayed home and Janie put my nieces to bed, afterward, she came in the front room where I was standing, staring out the window on the front door. She put her arm on my shoulder seeing me gazing out the window she felt the pain I was going through, as I looked out the front room door window, I saw something amazing, what I saw was a plain as day, it was a digital number reading like that of a clock radio that read in bright orange letters (SAT 7:00 AM). As I starred it not knowing what it was or where it was coming from it hit me inside, and I was excited! I shouted to Janie, "My Mother is not going to die today on Wednesday, but instead she won't die until Saturday at 7:00 in the morning. I said this as I turned to my friend Janie only to see a very concerned look on her face, but I knew I was right and I was certain of it, no one could tell me any different, it was locked into me because it was inside me too, that firm knowledge that was just there it was true and I knew it.

My Father kept a vigilant post at the hospital every day and night, coming home only when it was late and he went straight to bed. He carried on every day being the best husband he could possibly be, yet the whole time they were married he never in all those years gave her that much attention, even in combined years and years and years of marriage it wasn't until she was in a coma and dying did he realize his mate was leaving him and she probably need him long time ago and his ignoring her hastened her misery and death...

He was by her side as Candy and I waited for his call fully knowing it was coming at any time, except me, I knew it wasn't coming until Sat at 7:00 in the morning. Then like clockwork at 7:03 Saturday morning the phone rang.  Candy and I standing near the phone, she picked it up and she said to me in a whisper tone holding her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone "Mommy just died at 7:00". At such a horrific time I had such a wonderful feeling inside knowing it played out just exactly as I was shown it would with the passing of my mother, needless to say, I was very mixed up at the time.

But one thing I did know is something out there knew more than me and it told me and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt of the time of her passing. What I was clearly right before my eyes shown turned out to be the catalyst of my discovering my psychic ability inside. Developing faith in the unknown and knowing there was something out there that very subtlety showed me and prepared me back then when I needed it more and many times since. it was a big tease to entice me in understanding more of this gift. it all comes down to connecting with source and exhibiting faith in the source is how you grow it inside you. Your connections get made, you start to blend the metaphysical with the physical, so your body actually responds in unison each person is probably different and perhaps each incident is different. For me, in this case, my eyes actually saw the numbers and the date on the window like as if it were a reflection intangible but, in perfect vision to my eyes coupled with a sure feeling inside that was just pure knowledge I KNEW it was going to be that date and time she would die. Nothing could have convinced me otherwise.

Her diagnoses was "Cirrhosis of the Liver" with " Chronic Emphysema" all caused by drinking, smoking and not eating properly. After her death I went home and started the usual of cleaning the house, now it was my turn to start cooking and caring for my father who didn't even know I had been secretly doing it since I was a child to help my mom out, I was an adult child already being prepared to take care of other, which was also inline with my life calling I do believe.

Years had passed by, I never forgot this time of my life the loss of my mother at such a young age, and how it played a major role in my life in all things.

When I was later married and with children of my own, I became frantic about certain things, never wanting my children to experience the childhood I had. In some ways I tried to be the perfect mother to them, making cookies for them when they came home from school, and always having the house spotless upon their arrival. Most of all I made sure their underwears were always good smelling, for some reason that was super important to me and seeing to it they had nice undergarments, socks, shoes and clothes perfectly ironed and folded.

"Everyday was a day they may remember!" This was something I told myself daily. Something good needed to be done in case they picked "THIS DAY" to remember for the rest of their life, and my life was consumed with this until they grew and left the home one by one.

Now looking back with regrets and coming to terms with my mother's alcoholism and my father's role, both being from different eras, I can now lift my head high and say I did my best! And knowing had I not been raised in such a home, the turnout may not have been so crystal clear to me on how I was to raise my children and be the type of person I wanted to be. Perhaps making me more grateful for all I had gone through despite it all because I was allowed to raise my children better, thus replacing their pleasant memories for my unhappy ones.