I first related to mental illness as a child. I can remember as a small child standing and looking out of a living room window at my grandmother’s house. What I saw frightened and scared me enough to make me cry. My Dad was trying his best to get my Momma into his car. I heard loud voices and saw my Momma crying. She refused to get into the car. I heard my dad cry out for help and heard him say to others that she did not know what she was doing. Suddenly, people surrounded my dad and pushed my mom into the car. I remember taking my small, little fist and hitting the glass windowpane.

I was, at that time, upset, angry, and crying very loudly. I started yelling, ” Leave my Momma alone! Do not hurt her! Stop making her cry! “My grandmother came quietly into the living room and gently took my small hand into hers. She led me across the room to a rocking chair, picked me up, and placed me onto her lap. I heard my grandmother say,” Quiet child, stop crying. It is going to be all right. I was a 3-year-old child, and they had just taken my Momma away. Most adults often believe that children do not remember things that happen when they are exceedingly small.

 Only later did I grasp what happened that day. At ten, I knew things would never be the same. Studies have shown that many adults worldwide can recall the past from when they were incredibly young. Especially if it was a traumatic experience for them. I did not understand then, and as a small child, no one bothered to explain the reason my Momma was taken away. All I knew was that my Momma was not with me, and I was frightened. Shortly after that, my grandmother’s house caught on fire and burned down to the ground.

 My Dad and grandmother lost everything. We had no fire insurance. Once the house burned down, we had nothing, and times were extremely hard. We were extremely poor at that time. I grew up in old houses that sometimes had broken or cracked windows, or even holes in the walls. Dad would put old rags or newspapers that the neighbors gave us to stop the holes and cracks to keep the cold out. The old windows were covered in large sheets of plastic in the wintertime to keep the chilly air from coming into the house as well.

Dad and my grandmother, at that time, had to depend on family members, church members, and neighbors to give us things to start over. For a minority of my life growing up, I wore hand-me-down clothes and shoes. It was considered a blessing if my siblings or I got one new outfit or a pair of shoes at Christmas. Toys at Christmas were another thing. You were lucky to get one simple little toy. Birthdays were considered just another day. There were no birthday parties or gifts. Nor did I get a “Happy Birthday” unless my sister and I exchanged that greeting with each other.

 And as my little brother got older, we included him, too. And every year when I was little, I remember my sister and I would say a prayer that one day Momma would come home. My brother had been a baby when she was taken away. He did not remember her, and it would be some time before he even got the chance to meet her. In fact, it was some time before my sister, and I got the chance to see her again. I was a teenager before I understood what had happened to my Momma. My sister and I would listen to my grandmother and aunts talking about Momma.

Especially when they believed we were not paying any attention to what they were saying. They believed that children should not hear these things. I remember asking a teacher in middle school what” mental illness meant.” After my talk with the teacher, I knew that the chances of my Momma ever coming home were not good. It was especially so at that time because people simply did not understand mental illness, nor were a lot of people educated about it. The world was a different place for individuals diagnosed with any type of mental illness back then.

There were very few people who talked about mental illness openly and the effects it had on an individual, as well as their families. Even then, the medical field had limited knowledge of what caused some individuals to develop a mental illness while others did not. I learned as a young adult and throughout the years that the research in the mental illness field is limited. Mental health, throughout the years, has been at the bottom of the list as being important enough to be granted enough research funds to make an enormous difference.