DEAR MOTHER

Picture 190she called me Petunia

Dear Mother,

I’ll call you mother now that you’re dead. You always wanted me to, like you did your mother. Mom was enough. Even that was often hard.

You could have scooped me up into your arms and said, “I’m so sorry for what Chet has done. My poor darling.”

Held me, loved me, rocked me, and the tears that came would not be shame but those that heal. You buried me with that lecture that you said wasn’t a lecture, wasn’t blame.

Oh yes, it was.

Every time I tried to talk to you, you became highly emotional, dramatic. And when I said ‘stop being dramatic’, your drama intensified, making it all about you. Every time…….    I gave up. We never made it to, “I’m sorry.”

It was always a kind of yelling out, “Of course I’m sorry.” More like I’m being chastised once again.

And when Tom wanted to talk, his first words were about how young he was.

Why is it when the subject of the crimes I was terrorized by was approached, others want forgiveness and leniency before even apologizing, asking for forgiveness, or showing any remorse at all? I blamed me. Because of my rage, my inability to forgive.

no.

It’s not that. It’s your weakness … and his, and the others who knew and did nothing.

You didn’t protect me. And when I needed your love, you blamed me. 

Hold me. Rock me. Tell me it will never happen again.

It did.

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18 thoughts on “DEAR MOTHER

  1. I wish that I could give you a warm loving hug right now. I wish that I could help take that pain away. Your mom seems so much like mine. I know it hurts. I know it probably does not mean as much but I am sorry for the things that happened to you. If I were an adult then I would have scooped you up into my arms and told you how you never deserved that, you only deserve love and safety.

    I wish I could change this all. I wish I could change it for all of us who experience this.

    Another ((hug))… hold on my friend.

    Liked by 1 person

          1. I agree. I wish it could be that way. The worst part of this is how it effects everything. It just lingers…. my counselor told me that it’s just forever a part of me. It’s down even into my DNA. So I must learn to live with it.

            How are you doing today? I hope you are well.

            Like

          2. Wow, DNA?
            My hope is also that daughters could come forward with more honesty than my mother could seem to bear. Or maybe push more than I did for their mother’s to hear what they seem to not want to hear. And with that, the hope that repair comes sooner than it did for me. And for some never comes…
            You are so kind to ask. It still amazes me, how connected one can feel to another via internet. Thank you to even care to ask. I’m good. I hope for you too?

            Liked by 1 person

          3. I am not sure my counselor literally means DNA but considering how these things inevitably change the way we handle our own children there is a ripple effect (not always bad). I’m so vigilant it’s crazy.

            I’m doing ok. I’m still off work. I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to get the anxiety to go away enough to go back to work. Im… hanging in there.

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          4. Yes. Generational. I didn’t marry into a family where an older raped a younger too by accident. It felt right and a good fit, nothing out of the ordinary. I wish I hadn’t but such is what she probably means.

            Liked by 1 person

  2. Thank you. Really. A kind and caring response.
    Not only did I carry the secrets and shame, for her benefit and for the benefit of her sons, but I also felt her burdens, and their burdens…much more than my own pain.
    I already fully understood her pain, her guilt, her everything, as she made sure of it.
    Weak, selfish and manipulative. I loved her anyway. We stuck by each other till the end. And we had a moment when I said I was sorry. I forgave her without the needed words from her, and we both felt loved. I have that. I carry that.
    Yet at 9 or 10 years old, so much could have been different for me had she not lectured and told me to tell her if it ever happened again. As if I could stop it.
    I needed her love, acceptance, and protection and received none of those right then when I needed it most.
    I already know all the excuses and reasons why not. Her husband died. (my father) She had 8 kids. She went to work.
    None of which help, or explain why she did not gather me up in her arms and love me.
    I was the reminder of what she didn’t do, and what her sons had done.
    A loving hug would have made all the difference. That and finally protecting me, because it continued.
    The peace and freedom I have now occurred after her death, when I no longer felt I had to protect her and her good name, and her sons. I wrote the truth finally. Each chapter of truth erupted with all the tears I did not shed, could not shed, because it remained hidden inside. For her.
    That long ago pain, anguish and torment finally was free to come up, week to week, chapter by chapter, and with the tears, the rage abated, rolled down my cheeks, until the black muck was out, the salty tears healed.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Wow. So Clearly written!
      “but I also felt her burdens, and their burdens…much more than my own pain.
      I already fully understood her pain, her guilt, her everything, as she made sure of it.
      Weak, selfish and manipulative. I loved her anyway…..
      …I was the reminder of what she didn’t do, and what her sons had done….A loving hug would have made all the difference. That and finally protecting me, because it continued….”

      I am glad you were released, to be free, to tell your story, to state your truth.. finally… I can see how writing you’re book was like you’re artwork. A piece of glazed tile, shattered, and put back together into a new mosaic, unique, work of art, that inspires others, but still remembers the shattering.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. You have come a long long way and as you share your hurt and your experiences you allow others to feel less alone, allowing them to talk about their own experiences. I know that can never never make up for what happened to you or justify it but your willingness to be open and honest about such personal and painful things has been a light for so many (me included)! Sending many warm hugs your way!

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Your loss just pours from your blog post. I am so sorry that neither your mother nor anyone else took you into their loving embrace to tell you that you were a wonderful person…And that the hurt and violation you experienced was wrong and awful and that you would be protected from it ever happening again. That is what you needed and what you deserved. ((hugs)) for the child you and ((hugs)) for the adult you that still feels the wounds so deeply.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I feel the pain in this moment. And it makes sense to me. And I am sorry you ever had to endure it!!

    “It was always a kind of yelling out, “Of course I’m sorry.” More like I’m being chastised once again.

    And when Tom wanted to talk, his first words were about how young he was.

    Why is it when the subject of the crimes I was terrorized by was approached, others want forgiveness and leniency before even apologizing, asking for forgiveness, or showing any remorse at all? I blamed me. Because of my rage, my inability to forgive.

    no.

    It’s not that. It’s your weakness … and his, and the others who knew and did nothing.

    You didn’t protect me. And when I needed your love, you blamed me.

    Hold me. Rock me. Tell me it will never happen again.”

    Liked by 1 person

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