My Mom pulled away from me after I sobbed for a bit, put me in the car gently, told me to stay there and she’d be right back. She disappeared into the barn for not so long, coming back with a determined look on her face.
She slid into the driver’s seat, looked at me with so much love, shame and sadness in her eyes. “We’ll never discuss this again, and it will never happen again. I promise.” And that was that.
Some of my childhood memories are clear and strong after I turned 14. I am filled with anger and resentment toward my dad, ready to fight back at every remark, every look.
My mom changed everything in my life after that fateful day in the barn. My dad moved to a bedroom we created downstairs – because he suddenly couldn’t climb the stairs anymore. I never went anywhere with him alone again, and was never alone with my grandmother. She and my mother barely spoke.
My mom and I became the best of friends. We went everywhere together, became pals as well as family. She and my dad stopped doing as many things together – only the church functions and public appearances for my piano recitals, horse shows, plays and such could get her out with him.
Everything changed. Yet I never really recognized that change as a big deal until I remembered that day with my mom. All the pieces fell into place like cards falling into a deck. Amazing how our subconscious works.
I’m at peace with my mom now. She finally saw the truth and stepped up to protect me. She never let bad things happen again. She is the reason that I am OK – better than OK. She gave me a gift of love beyond measure, doing everything in her power to give back what was stolen from me. She loved me so much, she helped me heal the wounds and bury the pain so deeply that I was functional – more than functional. I was successful. I was able to move forward in the world and create a great life – even with the scary voices that wracked my subconscious, that were crying to me to share my real story. Sure, my relationships were awful experiences as I searched for a way to heal my father – attracting conman after conman. But my life overall was fabulous.
What hurts me now is that my mom stayed with him, lived in that awful ugly world even when I moved out into my own life. I know he was good to her for a while – he adored her. Part of me says he never would have hurt her. But then again, he publicly adored me. So I wonder.
My mom always said she’d leave a man if he hurt her. Yet she stayed with him. Was there some buried story in her past driving her to stay with my father? Did she stay because she didn’t know how to leave him in my small town that would have frowned on divorce? Did she stay for her God that would have punished her for divorce?
My dad got meaner and meaner as he got older. It drives me crazy now, wondering what hell my Mom lived in the last few years of her life as her mind failed thanks to mini strokes. She lost her edge and I can’t help but believe he took advantage of her weakness. Did he punish her? Did she fear him? I’ll never know for sure. But something deep in my heart tells me she died younger than anyone else in her family, ever, just to get away from my dad.
She gave me the strength to move on – even though she didn’t have the courage, or the capacity, to move on herself.
How strange is life?
Photo Credit
“Free” alicepopkorn @ Flickr.com. Creative Commons. Some Rights Reserved.
Recent Bel Brown, Thriving On The Other Side Articles:
- The Power of a Pause
- The Power to Change Our Story
- The Power to Co-Create
- Of Faith and Fear
- What’s in a Secret?
I spent half my life in therapy – with fabulous therapists who all have told me they would have NEVER guessed that I was abused. That’s how finely crafted my cover story was – how inherent it was within me and the very fabric of my being.
Our knowns and stories become who we are – and only with very specific help can we reach the unconscious to find the true Other Side of ourselves.
Blessing to all
Thriving
Thriving –
Heartening to hear that your Mom did try to get you some help! I understand the generational “don’t tell” thing, and how strong that is. I’m glad she was so much there for you.
Interestingly, I blocked out the violence with my Dad so thoroughly that if I had gone to a therapist and even had permission to talk about whatever – it never would have come up. It was just that deeply repressed.
And your Mom did stop the abuse – who knows where it would have ended up if she hadn’t done that!
I actually believe she did try to get me help – without sharing the truth about the story. Around age 14 (when this final event happened) I started seeing a therapist – for nervous ticks with my fingers and eyes. I went to see him for 2 years I think. The challenge was that I wasn’t about to tell – they had the fear of God in me, and mommy said to never mention it again.
In her own way she did try to get me help. She just couldn’t do it in a way that was open – too much generational stuff in her DNA to expose that horror. Just not done in the world in which I was raised. I totally get that – I know the culture. had I been her I probably would have handled it the same way.
My mom was an angel and I adore her to this day. Miss her every day of my life since she’s been gone. We talked every day of my life after the event above – even as an adult. She was my best friend, my buddy, my pal and my mentor.
I am who I am thanks to her. She is my savior….
Thriving
It was great that your Mom stopped it, changed the dynamic – for that she is to be much applauded. But if you had broken your leg, she would have taken you to a doctor. What stood out for me was that she never got you any help. Tragic for you!