A ¾ moon lit the path along with my lantern, the frozen earth sparkling all the way which means the fairies were out. Another magical morning, but tears leak out involuntarily while resting by the creek in the dark midway through the adventure.
A friend seeing her mother after many years of a rift has me worried, but also brings up old angst with my own mother gone 14 years ago.
My mother used to say upon waking to a frosty winter morning when the sun was out sparkling the snow, “The fairies have been out.”
That’s been my belief ever since, add to that- the Easter Bunny, Santa, the tooth fairy, leprechauns, and all things magical including mystical fairies.
There was a lot of good things mom brought to my life, but much of my life was spent hating her for not protecting me. Healing is like eating fruit, you go through layers. First the skin which can be tough and hard, then the juicy interior which is wet with tears but heals, and eventually the way to my own core is found.
When once it seemed all things mom had been aired, digested, and healed from, I’ve not yet bitten the core, or gone right down to my own. Because the tears came thinking about the how she’d do preposterous things with a little daughter she knew was abused but put me through anyway.
Already gaining weight after Danny raped me, Mom put me in a fashion show where my clothes had to be bigger than the other girls, making me feel worse than I already did.
Then there was the princess thing. She said I almost won, yet there were these questions about loving my family which silenced my little girl lips. These were not quests I wanted, but pushed into by her.
Family? My brothers were creeping into my room at night doing things to me. Where were you?
Layers. When working on mom issues after her death rage flamed. Now, no flames, just ashes of sadness.
No one came. No one helped. Not the princess questioner who might have noticed a little girl uncomfortable when asked about her brothers. Not the Bible School do-gooders who became shocked when we sang ‘Jesus Loves me,’ and I said, “He doesn’t love me.” Not the school nurse, my aunt, who weighed the class every year, and that year after the rape and rapid weight gain- also knowing sexual abuse was occurring, she just chastised me and did nothing else.
And not my mom, who continued to leave me home with them while she worked until Chet gave me crabs. After discovering that she hired a babysitter. It finally stopped. I was 11?
There has been an overload of tragedies in my life. Healing is a hard, arduous, and a very long process. Getting to my core means looking at some things once thought healed from, like mom stuff. When it comes up again it is without strong feelings, or deep dysfunctional connection. Her blunders forgiven. A more objective eye without the overwhelming emotions helps me see how much I’ve overcome. And…I still believe in magic.
Patricia J Grace 