Chapter 7 - MY MOTHER BEFORE THE BATDiane Palmer was not a lifelong movie villain.
That would have made the next year easier.
She made school lunches.
Worked as a dental-office manager for twenty-seven years.
Cared for our father during prostate cancer.
Remembered birthdays.
Sent Lily ridiculous amounts of Easter candy.
She also had a temper.
Our family called it:
Mom getting wound up.
When I was seventeen, she threw a dinner plate against a wall after I said I wanted to attend college out of state.
It missed everyone.
Dad cleaned it.
When Olivia was nineteen, Diane slapped her during an argument over a boyfriend.
Dad told us:
“Your mother is under stress.”
When Dad was dying two years before the housewarming, Diane threw a television remote hard enough to crack a cabinet because a hospice nurse moved his medication box.
Nobody was injured.
Nobody called police.
Every time, there was an explanation.
Stress.
Grief.
Fear.
Hormones when we were younger.
Exhaustion.
Dad was our family’s translator.
Mom explodes.
Dad translates.
Everyone moves on.
Then Dad died.
May you like
The translator was gone.
The explosions remained.
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