Patronus and Strength

Expecto patronum. This term is a spell commonly used in Harry Potter specifically in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. The spell is meant to cast away the darkness of Dementors and their negative energy by illuminating the dark and sending positive energy. It is also a latin phrase meaning, I await a guardian. I wish I had magic to cast this spell throughout my life.

At 18 months old my mother had kicked my father out. This may seem tragic but on the contrary it was actually the best thing she's ever done. My father was a drug addict and alcoholic. He would disappear days at a time and return with nothing but change in his pocket, even after payday. Numerous times he left us with no money for food and my mom had to spend every bit of her paycheck and tips she earned styling hair to buy us food and necessities. He was also violent and mentally and verbally abusive. It was so bad that my mother would actually search him and the car he drove for drugs because she did not want my brother or I around it. She hated that he did what he did. She tried to help by sending him to rehab twice. My father didn’t want any children. He didn’t like my brother much. Six years later my mom found out she was pregnant with me. Right before she could even gather the words to tell him he said “you know Deb, I’m glad we only have one kid I don’t want another one. Even this one is too much”. Right after speaking those words my mom told him and left with my brother to go to the park.

My mother is a strong woman. She dealt with this horrible situation on her own. It wasn’t until the divorce was final that she told anyone what he had done to us, what he had done to her. My mom caught him cheating on her one night and left a note on his car telling him not to come home. He did. They got into an argument that night and then took my mom and threw her body up against the wall as if she was nothing but a lifeless doll with money hidden inside. He was gone that night and never step foot back in the house.

Despite what my mother went through, the court granted my father visitation every Thursday and sleepover rights every other weekend. There was no evidence to show he relapsed, and no evidence of scarring on my mom to show he'd hurt her. Nothing could keep him away. Ages 2-5 are a blur when it comes to my father. In my mind I never had one it had always been us three and my brother acting's a father to me.

One day my mom gave the phone to my brother. I couldn't hear who was on the other end but I saw something change in my brother. For the first time I saw him filled with rage and pain. He shouted into the phone “NO!”. Then the phone was given to me. It was my father asking to see him again. I just remember thinking, who is this man? I don't have a father. Like any curious and naive little girl I said yes to seeing him. I wanted to know what it was like to have a father. I soon resented my decision.

I visited him every Thursday and slept over every other weekend from age 5 to age 10. I was miserable. Every time I would come home, I would run to my mom in tears. I felt like a trophy something to rub in my mom’s face. I didn’t feel human. Every time I was there he would verbally abuse me. He would tell me I’m ugly, fat, stupid, worthless, untalented, a waste of a soul. I believed him. He did drugs around me and would drive me home after drinking. He would get into arguments with people on the street. He would force me to eat until my stomach hurt and then would call me a fat ass. I wasn’t human. I told my mom but there was nothing she could do. It was actually written in her divorce agreement that in no way shape or form could she interfere with my dad’s visitation unless there was evidence of him being a danger to my life. We had none.

I remember thinking that the divorce agreement was unfair. Wouldn't they believe a child’s pain? Nope. The only way I could stop seeing him is if I told him no more. But I couldn’t. I was so afraid of what he would do to me if I told him no. He had never hit me but he did threaten me numerous times. I didn’t want him to hurt me or my family so I dealt with the pain.

When I turned 10 I finally said enough is enough. I called him up and told him everything I felt. I told him that I don't love him that I hated him. I told him that the reason I never said I love you to him is because the people you love and the people who hurt you never do what he had done to me. He made me feel like I was nothing like I didn’t even deserve to be alive. I told him I wasn’t going that weekend. I hung up before he could even respond. Seconds later he called back screaming at me. “You’re a worthless piece of shit! I’m your father how dare you hang up on me! You’re coming this weekend I don’t care what you want or what your mother tells you! I own you I made you and there’s not a thing that wretched woman or your pussy of a brother can do about it!”. I hung up and was in hysterics. My mom and brother held me tight and told me it would be okay. But I was so scared he would hurt us.

The phone kept ringing non-stop that night. Threatening voicemails played on the machine from my father, his mother and his wife. They were threatening my mom too. They blamed her for my decision. I felt horrible I didn’t know what to do. They were calling so consistently that my mom couldn’t even use the house phone to call the police. Every time she would dial just the first number another call would come through and the phone wouldn’t let her continue dialing. He was calling her cellphone too. Finally she grabbed my brother’s phone and called that way. About 20 minutes later two police officers rang our doorbell. At this point the calls had gone on for an hour. The police listened to the voice messages and told my mom they’d record them. The calls stopped at 3 in the morning, six hours after they started. Non-stop for six hours. I was exhausted.

The next morning I stood in my nightgown with dark purple bags under my eyes. My eyes were red and puffy from crying the night before. I slept in my mom’s room and my brother slept on the floor. I needed them more than I ever had before. I jumped as the doorbell rang but it was my aunt coming to help support me. She would give me chocolates from Godiva whenever I was sad and that’s what she did that day. It helped calm me down until I heard the bell again. My mom looked out the window. I was sitting next to my brother watching cartoons. She walked over to me and my brother squeezed my hand tight. My family huddled around me and hugged me tight. “It’s him. It’s time”. Words I thought I would hear on my wedding day when my prince would be waiting for me at the altar. Such a happy thought soiled by the presence of my father.

Knew my mom couldn’t come down with me because he would think she’s convincing me and that would be a violation of the divorce agreement. No, I had to do this alone. I opened the door to see his ice cold eyes scolding me. He asked why I wasn’t dressed. I told him because I wasn’t going. He got angry and started yelling. My mom opened the door and came downstairs. He told her she was in violation. “Why? Because I’m standing here protecting my daughter from a violent man?”. Those were the only words she spoke to him. He yelled at her and me but I wasn’t listening. Instead I was listening in on my aunt on the phone. “Officer Pych please”. She was calling the officer who had been to my house the night before. About five minutes later the police were on my doorstep again. They told my father to step aside. He did so angrily after a cop had taken his arm.

Officer Pych asked me to tell him everything I had been through with my dad. I did so. He saw the fear in my eyes and told me to wait upstairs. I’ve never ran up steps so quickly. My mother had to show the officer the divorce agreement to explain why she never said a word. Thought the door I heard my mom start to cry and the officer tell her it wasn’t her fault this was done to me and it wasn’t her fault she couldn’t stop it. The officers switched places. At this point they were here for an hour. “Can I speak to your daughter alone please?” asked the second officer. I came down to see a dark skinned man with black hair and kind eyes. “Hey there, everything will be okay Meghan. Why don’t you want to see your daddy anymore?”. I told him everything. His face dropped and he asked if my father ever inappropriately touched me in places friends normally wouldn’t. I said no. I was telling the truth he had never touched me inappropriately he just scared me enough to make it look like he had. I was sent back upstairs. I ran to my brother’s side for comfort. “It’s over Meg, you’re free”. I heard the house door close and my mom sat on my other side and held me as well. All the doors and the windows were closed. However we still heard my dad yelling loud and clear. “That’s how you want it? GO TO HELL!”. Those were the last words I heard my father say.

Cancer is like my father, violent and persistent. It comes at you until someone finds a way to stop it. The middle of my freshman year of high school I saw a bump on my leg. It was warm outside and I was wearing jeans. Sometimes when my skin gets warm too quickly I get heat bumps on my legs and sometimes even really tiny blemishes. I looked at it and thought eh its just the heat. When I went to get a physical 2 months later it was still there. My mom asked my doctor what it was and he said it looked like an oncoming beauty mark and to keep an eye on it.

One year later I got my drivers permit. My mom started letting me drive home from school and to the supermarket with her. One day I was driving down route 80 to get comfortable with driving on the highway. My mom likes to poke and pry at things that she knows aren't supposed to be there. For instance pimples, straggler hairs, fallen eyelashes, and the bump on my leg that hadn’t gone away since freshman year. At that point it went from the size of a pen dot to a little bigger than the size of a #2 pencil eraser. It was pink and almost a perfect circle.

Freaked out by how much it had changed in a year my mom started to look for a dermatologist to check it out. At first I resisted but one night I was watching television and a commercial came on about melanoma and how a woman had died because she had left an unchecked mole on her leg. I started sobbing and ran to my mom. I told her it’s a good time to make that appointment because I think I might have cancer. The next morning she called and set up an appointment for a possible biopsy the would happen in two weeks.

Day by day I would hear that commercial. It haunted me every 15 minutes and even came into my dreams. I had to mute the TV when it came on.

The day was finally here. I could get this mole checked out and be told it’s nothing. It would all be over soon. I was wrong. I went to a woman named Dr. Lu. She was a very bubbly and warmhearted person. She was checking my skin and laughing with me. She kept telling me how nice my skin is then she got to my leg and stopped. The joy had left her voice and she became serious. “We need to test that”. My heart sank and my mom’s face dropped. Dr. Lu tried to assure us it could be nothing but she needs to make sure.

Moments later she had a 3 syringes filled local anesthesia. Soon after injecting me she took another needle to make sure my leg was numb. She took a knife and scraped off the mole from my leg then she quarterized it to stop the bleeding. I went home numb, but not just my leg. I was filled with fear. I went straight to the bathroom to clean the scab with antiseptic soap like I was directed. When I took off the bandage there was a circle on my leg that looked like a zodiac wheel. My brother came out of his room and looked at me as I cleaned it and cringed in pain.

He came behind me and hugged me tight. In an instant I was 10 years old again. I was helpless, scared, and in pain. Only this time it wasn’t my dad, it was cancer or rather the possibility of it. “You’re going to be okay. I promise”. I needed him. I needed my mom. I needed them just as much as I had that day when I was ten. I felt like a waste of life and was scared if cancer came that I wouldn’t be able to beat it like I got through my dad. Expecto patronum. If only magic ran through me I’d cast that pain away but I’m mortal.

Two weeks later the result came back. My mother had slept in my room those two weeks and my brother had stayed home after work and on the weekends instead of being with his friends. She came into the living room crying. I started to cry too. I have cancer. She hugged me and said I would be getting surgery September 23. This was it I was going to start chemo, I would lose my hair, and all of my bodily strength.

“You won”. I looked up at my mom confused after she uttered these words. I was wrong. My mother was crying from relief. I didn’t have cancer. There was a possibility it could’ve became cancer in a few years but it wasn't at the moment. I laughed and cried at the same time like a psychopath who had just killed someone he loved only that was how I cried of relief.

My scar is an inch and a half long and went two and a half inches deep into my leg. At the time my legs were pure muscle from working out and from dancing. I liked being in shape to prove to myself I wasn’t fat like my father said I was. I could barely walk for two months after the surgery and my leg was swollen like a sausage. The lack of exercise caused weight gain on top of a minor thyroid problem I found out about si months later.

I lost all hope of being skinny and fit ever again. But one day I looked at my scar and realized it almost looks like a sword. Expecto patronum. My sword shaped scar is my patronus, my guardian. When I lose my confidence I look down and think I beat cancer before it even touched me. I beat my father. If I can do that at ages 10 and 16 then I am much stronger than I could ever begin to understand. Expecto patronum. I cast away anything that has or will ever make me feel worthless again, my father included.