Nikkia Roberson - Mummy is a Killer

Contents

About the Book

Why did you leave me? Why did you get messed up with all of those drugs? Why did you kill my brother and sister? Didnt you love us enough?

Nikkia Roberson has been asking these questions for most of her life. But how else do you cope when your mentally ill mother has killed your little brother and sister by scalding them with boiling water?

This is the harrowing true story of how one little girl lost her family in the worst possible way. But its also the ultimate tale of forgiveness.

Follow Nikkia on her heartbreaking journey, as she attempts to find answers and rekindle a relationship with her mother behind the gates of a secure psychiatric hospital.

Deeply moving, Mummy is a Killer proves that love really is the strongest emotion of all.

About the Author

Born in 1991, Nikkia Roberson grew up in Amityville, New York. She now lives in Augusta, Georgia where she is studying to become a nurse and works part-time at a day care centre for children.

This book is a work of non-fiction based on the life, experiences and recollections of the author. The names of some people, places, dates, sequences or the details of events may have been changed to protect the privacy of others.

Those we Love remain with us

For Love itself lives on.

Cherished memories never fade

Because a loved one is gone.

Those we Love can never be

More than a thought apart.

For as long as there is memory

Theyll live on in our heart.

Author Unknown

Forgiveness is the final form of Love.

Reinhold Neibuhr

Prologue

S OMETIMES I LOOK at my hands and I smile. They are my moms hands long, tapering fingers that wrinkle and crease at the knuckles. They turn up at the ends so when I stretch them out they look like an opened flower. I am like my mom in so many ways we have the same round dark eyes, the same smile and laugh. We walk the same too. Sometimes I look at other women together in the street and you can tell they are moms and daughters they look alike. I want that. I want to walk down the street with my mom, arm in arm, looking the same. I want everyone to see we are related.

But I dont have that. I dont have anyone like me out there.

Most of the time I feel very alone in the world. I want to do the things other moms and daughters do go to the mall, go out for dinner, laugh and talk together.

But I dont know if Ill ever have that. You see, my mom is locked up in a mental institution. I dont know if shes ever going to get out. But I hope one day she does.

I used to be scared of her hands. I used to look at them and wonder how on earth they did what they did. I wondered if my hands were the same; if I could do what she did. Ive spent many years wondering and worrying about how similar we are. And what that similarity might mean for me.

This is the story of how I learned to love my mom, her hands, and mine.

1

Locked Out

I WANNA GO inside! Momo whined, sticking out her bottom lip in frustration and tugging at the front of her shorts.

Yeah, me too but we cant! So youll just have to wait, I told her patiently. It was a hot summers day in Brentwood, New York and the cars slid lazily past our front lawn as we three kids sat around, waiting for the front door to open.

Wed been outside since midday and time seemed to have slowed to a standstill as the baking sun beat down on our bare legs and arms.

I scratched absent-mindedly at a scab on my elbow while I tried to work out how long wed been out there.

The sun had moved way over in the sky and long shadows were beginning to creep up the side of the house.

As usual, Mom had put us out when her friends arrived, and although we could hear their voices inside and see their faces occasionally appear at the window to check we were still out there, nobody let us in.

I looked down at my little sister Momo as she danced from one foot to the other in her pink jelly sandals. Her real name was Delvin but everyone had called her Momo since she was a baby because her middle name was Monae.

You wanna pee? I asked. You know you cant pee on yourself or Mom will get mad and give you a whooping! I warned her.

I dont care, Momo replied sulkily, though behind her defiance I could see fear she didnt want to end up with wet shorts and a whooping.

But Momo wasnt one to back down easily. Out of the three of us, she was the difficult one, always acting up, answering back, and right now she was giving me that angry, rebellious look.

Look pee round the side of the house, like I did, I told her firmly. Just go round the side and squat down there. Theyre not gonna let us in anytime soon.

So Momo hopped off round the side to relieve herself while I held our little brother Mellies hand.

As far back as I can remember Mellie and Momo were always there. At five, I was just a year older than my sister Momo, four, and she was a year older than our three-year-old brother Mellie, so it was always the three of us. And if Mom wasnt around I was in charge.

You wanna pee too? I asked Mellie, who had his thumb stuck in his mouth. His real name was Melvin but he was always Mellie to us.

Mellie shook his head. He was a sweetie, never demanded anything, never got mad or cried. Mellie would just do whatever he was told, never complaining or making a fuss, unlike Momo, who kicked up a stink all the time. Those two, they were as different as night and day.

You thirsty? I asked, feeling the dryness scratch the back of my own throat.

He nodded. We hadnt had anything to eat or drink since lunchtime when Mom gave us ham and cheese sandwiches and soda.

So I took him to the hose next to the steps at the front of the house and turned on the tap, careful to hold my finger over the top so the water wouldnt come out too fast. Mellie tipped his face to one side and opened his mouth obediently as the water shot into it and he made catlike lapping motions with his tongue.

Meanwhile, Momo reappeared from the side of the house, hitching up her jean shorts and shouting: Me too! Wait for me!

I turned the hose in her direction, pushed both thumbs into the top and let her have it!

Hey! she shouted as the droplets hit her head and clothes, giggling and running back out to the lawn, away from my attack.

After wed all taken turns drinking from the outside hose we played with my dolls, giving them a tea party. Every half an hour or so one of us would knock on the front door, trying to entice my mom or one of the adults to open up.

Hey, come on were hungry! Momo yelled into the crack of the door opening.

Mom? Mom? Will ya let us in now, please? Please?

After a while we swapped to playing School. I was the teacher of course and if anybody was naughty Id give them a smack. When we tired of playing School we played House I was the mommy, my sister Momo was the daddy and my brother Mellie was the baby.

And if anyone was naughty Id give them a smack!

When everyone had got thoroughly annoyed with my smacking, Mellie wandered off to play with his cars while Momo and I bickered over whose turn it was to be the mommy.

Finally, we just sat on the apartment steps, too tired and hungry to play as the sun slunk behind the tower blocks in our street and the sky turned a hazy tangerine.

Then, the key turned in the door and Moms face appeared, her eyes heavy-lidded and glazed.

Come on! she yelled. Get in here now!

Surprised but pleased we scrambled to our feet and scampered up the steps to the house.