On The Edge of the Window
I stood at the edge of the window in my family’s fifth-floor apartment and wondered if I could fly. Just a few hours earlier, after enjoying yet another dream with my beloved and beautiful brown eagle, I made up my mind that today would be the day. Today I would finally be brave. Today I was going to fly away.
Most of the time, I considered Sundays to be my favorite day of the week. I would spend them alone watching over my baby brother which I felt was a wonderful way to spend a weekend. I always cherished Sundays the most because unlike the rest of the week, we were left alone and we were able to do the fun things that we weren’t allowed to do on any other day.
Even though this was the fifteenth day in a row and I hadn’t been allowed to go outside, I still felt strangely happy and joyful from the moment I woke up that morning. In fact, I somehow knew that this day was going to be different and unique even though I hadn’t yet figured out what it was that made me feel that way. After all, I was only a little over eight-years-old, and I did not understand everything in this world so easily. Despite my predicament, and despite the distractions of my one-year-old baby brother who was needy and quite a handful, my mind was still so full of hope. I yearned for brighter days.
It was now 11 a.m. and my regular morning routine was finished. It usually took about three hours to complete my chores, but on Sundays, they always took longer because I would pause to play with the baby and have fun. It felt better to be doing things around the house at my own speed without the pressure of adults watching over my shoulder. And now even my baby brother was happy, sporting a set of fresh, clean clothes and a rounded belly full of food.
I looked down from the window and could see my friends and classmates playing outside as they usually did on the weekend. I, on the other hand, couldn’t go outside. It wasn’t just be-cause my parents had forbidden it, but it was also because I didn’t want to leave my brother alone. So all I could do was watch everyone from my balcony window and enjoy the bright summer sunbeams as they shone through the glass and warmed my face.
Mother at Seven Description:
Mother at Seven: Raw, Gut-Wrenching Memoir Empowers Victims of Abuse to Rise as Fearless, Boundless Victors
Written from the harrowing, abusive early life of Veronika Gasparyan, ‘Mother at Seven’ takes readers to Sochi, Russia, as the author prepares to jump out of her family’s apartment window to stop the sadistic abuse at the hands of her family. Thankfully, Gasparyan chose to live and fight against her aggressors, emerging as a formidable woman who came of age as a renowned musician and writer. This is her story, in its bold, frank and uninhibited truth. It’s a powerful read, inspiring one critic to recently write, “An intense fast read that you will not be able to put down”.
At the tender age of just seven, when most children should be basking in their childhood and the innocence of youth, Veronika Gasparyan stood in the fifth-floor window of her Sochi apartment, preparing to jump.
It was the only ending Gasparyan could imagine to a life story marred by sadistic abuse at the hands of an uncle; abuse that involved ritualistic beatings while Gasparyan attempted to embrace her role as primary caregiver to a newborn in the family. In short, there was nothing left to live for.
Miraculously, Gasparyan lives today to tell her story. In her shocking memoir, ‘Mother at Seven: The Shocking True Story of an Armenian Girl’s Stolen Childhood and Her Family’s Unspeakable, Cruel Betrayal’, her early life plays out like a sick and twisted movie – one reader will never forget.
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