Mommy Dearest

I sat with fingers on the keyboard for what seemed like an hour before actually pushing on a key for this post. Somethings are just locked away and are too painful to compose and the relationship with my mother is one of those. 

Since my brothers passing nearly 3 months ago there hasn't been a day I haven't mourned him in some way, my own way. 

The day of his funereal thrust me into a place I had hoped never to be again, in the same space as my family of origin. My mom and step dad present past a boundary that was placed long ago. I had never felt the need to explain why, how or what to anyone as to what happened between my parents and myself until now. Now that my brother is no longer here to buffer the deafening whispers by those curious...

In the summer of 1980 my mother went to visit her family in Texas and it was then the first time my step father sexually abused me, in her absence. I remember the time and year vividly because she came back with a shirt that read "I survived the heat wave of 1980" and all I could think was I DIDN'T. 

At the age of 9 until my teens he took every opportunity to force me to touch him, tough me and tell me to kiss him. The saying the devil is in the details applies here and to me he truly was that devil. Somewhere in my early teens (trauma makes youth fuzzy) I found my step father in the garage having sex with a women that was staying with us, they did not know I saw them until the elders in the church called them in to talk. Yes, that's correct. You read that right, as a young girl I had to go tell grown men that I had found my dad having sex with someone other than my mother. 

I did not have the courage to tell them about my own abuse at that time and I have regretted it for this reason. 

A 15 year old girl was moved into our house because her step father had been abusing her, the elders placed her with us. My mother was not home and I was allowed to go spend the night with my girl friend down the street, this was usually not allowed and I should have known deep down our ward was in harms way. That night he sexually assaulted her in our absence, she was brave enough to go to the police. He was charged June 1987 of 2 counts of sexual abuse a class A misdemeanor in the year 1987. He plead not guilty but was convicted months later and was placed in a half way house. 

It was for that reason we left my home town and moved to the city where he was placed. 

It was then I finally had the courage to tell the elders and my mother about the years of abuse. 

Therapy was suggested for my mother and I after the moving dust settled. We were there for 10 minutes, she got up and left after the counselor called my step dad a pedophile. I remember chasing her out of the office and asking her why she can't "hear" that out loud. We went right back to our lives with him as the head of our household. 

My mother and I had a personal relationship like most mother and daughters, there were sweet times. I often felt like the parent hoping she would break up with her obnoxious boyfriend and find someone that deserved her kindness. We had a few running jokes, one was me telling her to constantly "be your own woman" and the quote from the movie Mommy dearest "no wire hangers!" I often found my self incredibly saddened and disappointed in her lack of self love and willingness to put her children first. 

To look back on my mothers personal history of abuse in her family some would say her choices were understandable. That she as a woman, abuse survivor and mother did the best she could. 

I'm calling bullshit. As a woman, abuse survivor and mother you ALWAYS protect your children. 

I had my first child and I allowed my relationship to open up with my mom. She would come visit and built a bond with my first born. Her visits were understandably without her husband, this was our rule. When my second daughter was born and mom wanted to visit she tried to change our arrangement. She wanted to come with her husband and thought is was unfair to exclude him from our growing family. It was then that choices had to be made, a relationship with my mom or protect my girls.

Breaking cycles in families are hard. They mean doing what is right and safe instead of what you think you have to do... no one was there to protect them but me and I choose them. 

Loosing parents is difficult when they pass away and just as hard when they are still alive. Grief follows me when I think about all that was lost, my relationship with my mom, the girls didn't have a grandmother, the familial connections and the loss of my faith in people to just be better, do better in spite of your past. 

My brothers death brought us all back together for a few days. Loosing him was tough but then to be tossed in the muddy waters that is my parents made it nearly unbearable. Many of those present did not know about my lack of relationship with my parents and did not understand why we weren't grieving together as a family. In those few days with them ever present grieving the loss of my brother was overshadowed by the hyper vigilance that came flooding back.  I had no words for them, nothing except what was forced upon me. 

It is sad. All of it is. 

But at the end of my days I will go knowing I protected myself, my girls and most of all survived.