Twenty

           First of the month.  Melissa sat at the desk writing checks, making a dent in the pile of bills. Thankfully Social Security and IRA draws created a comfortable retirement.  Their income wasn’t as much as when they worked. They had planned well in advance, paid off the big items, managed monthly expenses with some leftover for wants not just needs.  She’d focused on good stewardship, sound financial advice, and common sense so now they reaped the rewards of wise planning. 

Granted they were at the whim of the stock market which wasn’t for the faint of heart. They’d ridden out two downturns that had resulted in a smaller nest egg.  Regardless they were still ahead of the curve.  When the Stock Market was up, they could pull out extra, so in the end, it balanced out. It didn’t hurt them to tighten their belts in the lean years. After all God had Joseph as an example of wise planning.

“Hey,” Ed stuck his head in the door, “Jan just pulled in the driveway.”

“Jan?” Melissa said quizzically, “I wasn’t expecting her.”

“Don’t know what to tell you,” he shrugged as the doorbell rang, “she’s here.”

Melissa lay down the pen and made her way to the front door.  It wasn’t unusual for Jan to pop in but generally, she called first. She unlocked the door, smiled when she saw her friend and said, “What a pleasant surprise!”

“Was on my way home. Thought I’d stop for a minute,” Jan explained as she took her coat off and laid it on the entry bench.

“Want coffee?” Melissa asked as they made their way down the hall to the kitchen.

“Sounds good.”

“Ed made a fresh pot,” Melissa said as she poured a cup and handed it to Jan.

“Not having any,” Jan stated.

“I left a cold cup on the desk,” she grimaced. “I’ve been paying bills.”

“Oh joy,” Jan laughed, “our favorite thing to do.”

“Yeah right!” Melissa laughed with her.  “So, what you been up to?”

“Ran errands,” she took a sip of coffee, “thought I’d stop to see how you’re doing today on your mother’s birthday.”

“Not just any ole birthday but her eightieth,” Melissa sighed, “Mixed feelings. Sad I can’t help her celebrate.  Then there’s relief at not having to deal with her.”

“Some might say you brought this on yourself.  All you have to do is pick up the phone and call,” Jan stated.  “How’s that make you feel?”

“Angry! To state the obvious! This morning I went over the feeling word list Naomi gave me.  Downhearted would best describe the type of sadness. I’m still a bit puzzled and wrestle with understanding what all this ‘mom’ stuff means.”  Melissa sat down at the table; Jan sat across from her.

“What’s Naomi say?” Jan asked.

“Ah, there’s a sixty-million-dollar question!” Melissa dropped her head into her hands.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.” Jan softly said, “I just wanted you to know I’m here if you need me.  I know this day is hard for you.”

“You know,” she lifted her head, rested her chin on folded fingers, “I woke up feeling like a quiver of fiery arrows had been shot my way. I know Mom and her cohorts are praying us kids come to our senses. Resist the evil that has led us astray and call her.  Repent of treating our mother so unjustly and reconcile. Because after all, we know how she is, always has been and always will be. So, get over ourselves! I reminded myself that I wrestle not only with flesh and blood but principalities and powers, rulers of wickedness in this world. Their well-intentioned, misled prayers give principalities ammunition to mess with us unless we stand against them.”

“And did you,” Jan paused, “stand against them?”

“Absolutely! I kept it simple. I submitted my will to God, resisted the enemy and commanded him to flee. I refuse to get sucked into a prayer war. The last thing I want to do is give the enemy any more ammunition.” Melissa said with frustration.

“That’s good!” Jan praised her.

“I love my mother and do miss her,” Melissa said with melancholy. “Naomi helped me understand what I miss is the idea of what I always waited for her to be, a mom. And obviously, at eighty years old it still ain’t happenin. She will never be a mom and that makes me sad.”

“What about Sam and Jen, they calling her?”

“Sam probably will,” she frowned, “Jen won’t. Last time I talked to her she said her therapist helped her get to a place of not wanting mom dead.  So that’s good.”

“I remember you saying she really carried on about wanting your mom dead,” Jan cringed. “That seems like such a scary mindset.”

“Big time!  She was even fantasizing how she could go about making it happen!  I’m glad, for her sake, she’s working through the why’s of feeling that intensely about mom’s demise.”

“I doubt your mother will never know the emotional damage she’s done to her kids,” Jan said.

“Neither will those who aren’t willing to listen to both sides of the story.”  Melissa raised both her hands as if to surrender, “It’s not my responsibility to try and get them too.  I’ve appreciated the few who’ve called and wanted to know what I had to say about mom.  Naomi really helped by pointing out if they don’t want to listen, tell them my pain needs to be honored and respected and leave it at that.”

“I must say you’re doing better today than I thought. I know you’ve put the work into it and it shows!  Way to go girl!” Jan high fived her.

“Thanks, I’m trying,” she grinned, “It’s a daily challenge to break free from a lifetime of covering up for her.  An epiphany I had this morning was how strong my sense of responsibility had been, and still is in some ways, an illusion of control when it comes to mom.”

“Hey,” Jan shook her head, “there’s no one on God’s green earth that could control your mother!”

“Too true!  Lord knows, to our detriment, we tried.  Especially Sam!  He’s still a bit of a control freak and doesn’t fully realize it!”  Melissa stated with raised eyebrows.

“Didn’t you talk about control issues last time with Naomi?” Jan asked.

“Yes, we did.  She was surprised my fourteen-year-old self, scored forty-nine-percent control. But that’s where responsibility kicked in to replace that feeling of disempowerment which came from being a victim to mom’s authoritarian control.”

“I remember telling a niece, at her sister’s wedding, her guilt trips about not coming to her wedding wouldn’t work on me.  I’d been raised by a mother who had a Ph.D. in guilt trips.  Mom was and is a master manipulator with guilt trips.  It’s a covert narcissist’s way of dominating the narrative and making themselves the victim or hero, never the villain.  It’s a smokescreen that I’m, hopefully, finally breaking free from.”

“Which brings me to the next stuff I need to work on.  The feeling of embarrassment and shame that comes with having fallen for and into her manipulations.  I have to break free from feeling responsible for her. My only responsibility is to overcome the damage done and let God heal my broken, shattered heart.”

“That sounds like quite the challenge!” Jan responded and encouraged. “But I think you’re up for it.”

“I hope so,” Melissa hesitated, “I’ve covered up, in order to protect mom, the ugly memories.  I’ve quenched emotions thinking I’m protecting myself.  I’m just thankful the Lord taught me a few years ago about His glory being the antithesis to shame.  I suspect knowing that will help me through the messy process of unburying the pain of cover-up.”

“I’m so glad you’re not trying to do this on your own,” Jan said.

“I couldn’t do it without your help and support Jan.  I hope you know that,” Melissa smiled.

“You’re going to owe me big time,” Jan grinned as she Groucho Marxed her eyebrows.

“Oh, I’m sure you won’t let me forget,” Melissa threw back her head and laughed.  “It’s never a dull moment with you.”

“Better believe it,” she answered mockingly, “But hey look at the time.  I better get home. Bill’s going to think I’m out spending all his money.’

“As if,” Melissa rolled her eyes, “you are both such cheapskates.”

“Yep,” Jan said as she stood up and punched her friend on the arm “you know me well my friend.”

Melissa followed her friend down the hall and waved goodbye as she went out the door.  With a smile, she headed back into the office to finish the bills.  The thought of it being her mother’s eightieth birthday lingered in her mind and she sent up a silent prayer God would bless her on this special day. 

Nineteen

            Ed gazed out the window at the darkened evening sky.  An orange ribbon of light on the horizon declared the sun had set.  Where was his wife?  He understood her need to escape.  She wouldn’t do anything stupid, this he knew.  He wanted her home, where she’d be safe and sound.  He wished there was a way to make the bullshit just go away.  Sixty-three years of her mother’s madness had taken its toll.  Headlights crawled up the hill and turned into the driveway.  He muttered; “About time.”

            Melissa dashed into the house, “Hey, smells like you lit the woodstove.”

            “Yea,” Ed planted a kiss on her, “thought you might want to warm your bones.”

            “You better believe it,” she pulled off her raingear, “Tis a bit wet out there!”

            He laughed at her penchant for stating the obvious, it was one of the things he loved about her.  She gave him a quick hug, then skedaddled to the hearth to warm her backside. 

            “The older I get the deeper the cold penetrates,” she shivered.

            “You are a glutton for punishment,” He shook his head, “You could have ‘pondered’ in the warmth of your own home, dingbat!”

            “Ah! You love me! You really love me,” She slugged his arm, “Nerd ball!”

            “So, how’d it go?”

            She rubbed her arms and cocked her head, “Went well.  Had an epiphany.”

            “Seems you’ve had a few of those lately,” he matter of factly stated.

            “I think it comes with doing the work Naomi recommended,” Melissa said

            “I’m glad it’s helped, babe.”

            “Me too!  It’s hard sometimes because I don’t like what I see. But I know in the long run it’s what I need.”  She paused, “That said, I have a question for you.”

            “Shoot!”  He told her.

            “You know how much I hate the pervasive victim mentality that dominates our society,” he nodded at her, “Anyway, I realized I need to acknowledge. Admit. Recognize how I was a victim of mom’s ways as a kid. Do you think I’m over-reacting?”

            “Hell no!” Ed vehemently reacted, “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again! Your mother was not a mom. She used you!  I know you don’t think it was all that bad compared to others. Your childhood might have been your normal. But it was by no means normal! You’re always downplaying the crap! Especially how it made you feel! I bet you can count on one hand the number of times you ever let your mother know you were mad at her.”

            “Probably,” Melissa sucked in a deep breath then exhaled. “But everybody has problems.  I can’t help but feel it could have been worse.  I’ve made a conscious effort to look for the good that came out of my upbringing.  Made the choice to bury the bad because after all what’s the point, it won’t change anything.” 

Ed protested she stopped him with a raised hand, “Let me finish! Having said that, I know that’s how I survived the BS.  It scares me to unbury, dig up memories I don’t remember existed.  It’s a struggle because the feelings, the emotions want to rise to the surface before I have any idea of what they are attached to.”

“My epiphany is to admit I was a victim. Not make excuses for mother’s behavior.  Victim is the shovel to unbury the mom crap. Over the years I’ve detached myself from the pain with laughter and a smile.  It’s enabled me to ignore the deep-seated, buried grief and keep it from rising to the surface.” 

“After all, I’m supposed to be the stable one.  The one everyone turns to for guidance and comfort.  I don’t want to expose myself to the condemnation and judgmental attitudes of those who can’t or won’t understand. It scares the living daylights out of me to step outside my comfort zone and become vulnerable, especially to me!”

“I don’t know what to say or how to help you,” Ed quietly said, “I wish I did.  I do know you need to do this.  Whatever it takes.  You’ll have to tell me when you need me to do something.”

“I will,” she wryly grinned, “You can be a pain in my butt, but you mean well.”

“Gee thanks,” Ed rolled his eyes, “Just what every husband wants to hear.”

            “Ah don’t take it too seriously dear,” she bantered, “You’re still a keeper. I wouldn’t trade you for all the tea in China.”

            “So,” his tone grew serious again, “back to this idea of using victim as a shovel.  How does that work?”

            “Good question!” She sighed, “I think as long as I admit to a sense of victimhood and see the truth of it, then I can deal with and overcome its lifelong hidden effects on my psyche. One shovel is a love style test Naomi had me take online.  I took it as if I was thirteen, twenty-three and now to see the progress I’ve made.  Not too surprisingly the thirteen-year-old came back with high scores in styles that indicated I had a difficult childhood.  107% Pleaser, 71% Victim, 71% Avoider, 64% Vacillator, etc.”

            “Did those scores ring true to you?” He asked.

            “Unfortunately, they did,” she shrugged, “especially after I read their definitions. I could so see myself as Pleaser and Avoider when I was thirteen.  I really, really wanted to ‘avoid’ the idea of victim.  Because I want to continue to protect that girl from the harm it caused.  She’s the one who felt intensely betrayed and abandoned by mother.”

            “The irony is, as Naomi explained, I’m the one who made a mommy connection as a child and I’ve spent my life trying to get that back.  I know it can’t and will never happen. But the thirteen-year-old me still hopes it is possible. I don’t want to disappoint and make her ever feel so hopeless again.  I’m starting to understand that was the beginning of hope becoming my nemesis.”

            “Sounds like the victim shovel may have unburied something there for you,” Ed commented.

            “Maybe so,” she thoughtfully agreed, “I just hope my heart can endure the rush of overwhelmed emotions.”

            “You can do this,” Ed encouraged her, “I’m here for you. You have friends who love and support you. Sam, Jenn and you are the only ones who will ever fully understand what it was like as kids with your mother. They get it and are on the same page. I know some think you guys need to get over it, forget the past and get on with it.  But you know that’s not what’s needed.”

            “That much I do know!  As much as I hate saying this again,” she grimaced, “It feels good to not have contact with mom. Jenn so feels that way!”

            “As well she should!” He stated with conviction. “I get it! I’ve been a part of your mom’s bullshit for over forty years. At some point, you have to say enough is enough and I’m proud of you for finally being able to say you’re done!”

            “I am done,” she said with sadness, “Now I have to put a stop to fifty years of quenching the thirteen-year-old me. It’s time to unbury wounds in need of a scar.”

            “You’ve always said you can do all things through Christ who gives you strength.  The two of you got this babe,” he stepped up on the hearth, pulled her into his arms as she melted into his safe embrace.

Eighteen

          The ashen blue pacific surf rammed against the rock-hard cliffs of the Oregon coastline.  Fall storms came raging in one after another demanding to be heard, not ignored.  A reflection of Melissa’s own emotional storm.  Today was the sort of day she needed to see a facsimile of what she hadn’t been able to put words too.  The raw magnificent emotional energy of nature in its purest form.  It soothed her mind to witness God’s masterpiece in all its intended glory.  Emotions were not as easily soothed. 

            Windswept tendrils of chestnut hair blew across her face as she made her way down the blonde sandy dune.  She loved this time of year when the beach was deserted. Not far ahead was her destination.  A secluded cove whose name she’d never learned. A safe place to reflect without interruption on the cares of this world.

            The wind had erased footprints of previous sojourners. No other cars in the lot bore witness that she was the sole idiot out braving the elements on such a stormy day.  Stocking cap, well- insulated rainproof jacket, gloves, Xtra-tuff boots, and layers of clothing would keep her warm.  Sideways rain pelted her body, she persevered and pressed on. 

            The backpack was filled with snacks, fire-starter, flashlight and change of clothes.  Ed would not have agreed to her jaunt had she not been prepared, like a good Girl Scout.  He knew where’d she be, trusted her skills and understood her need to escape.  

Facelifted to the heavens she noted how dark, practically black the cloud-filled heavens were. They billowed and rolled over the cliffs ready to slam dunk their contents onto the mountains to the east.  The inky sky beckoned her to tell them the dark secrets of her soul.  They would safely place them in God’s heavenly storehouse, all she had to do was ask.

In a couple hours the tide would turn, right now it was perfect and gave her access.  Ahead was the outgoing tide’s stream as it pulled seawater from the hidden cove. Water swirled around her boots as she walked upstream and through the narrow cliffs that hid the entrance.  She sighed, smiled and entered the private, for members only, protected cove.

Rare white granite cliffs offered a semblance of light. Water rippled where it escaped its confines, but the cove itself was calm and mirror-like. Trees were tall and stately, not at all like their cousins, that stood watch overhead, their form determined by the ever-prevailing gusts. The wind was not a member and rarely gained admittance to the coves exclusive club. 

Off to one side was her favorite rock. Over time the elements had sculpted it into a perfect throne.  She climbed up and over a few boulders, took off a glove and ran her hand over its speckled surface.  When the sun’s light caressed the timeless stone, it sparkled.  She could only hope the throne of her heart was as beautiful to His eyes. She sat down and surveyed the hidden beauty.

She liked coming here.  It helped her see what God created in her, a clean heart and a renewed mind.  Her struggle at the moment was wrestling within the confines of long-established paradigms she’d defined about her heart and mind.  It was difficult letting go of what had seen her through dark and troubled times.  Her analytical mind did not want to give up control over her emotional well-being.  It didn’t want to give her emotions a chance to thrive.  At times she wanted to throw in the towel and stick with what she knew, let the analytical stay in control.

But!  There was that inescapable, but, in the long run, it would not be healthy to give analytical control. It was a temptation hard to resist.  She pulled out the journal that documented her process.  A quote from page 165 in The Artists Way put it into words; “We block ourselves to alleviate fear…whenever we experience the anxiety of our inner emptiness.”

How did she block herself? By “reaching for the painful thought.” If she focused on a known pain, she could avoid the buried ones. Time and again she rehashed old worn-out memories of past real and perceived mistakes. What a failure she had been and was! Why?  To avoid the fear that accompanied delving to the root of her emotional pain.

Pain long-buried, because after all it wouldn’t do any good.  It wouldn’t change anything. Compared to others it really wasn’t that bad, so buck up and get over it.  Again, but, then the ‘inner emptiness’ stayed filled with anxiety that was more than willing to raise its ugly head and lead to paralyzing depression. A fear-filled depression that demanded care and attention, which became mind and heart numbing.

Which led to a feeling of, what’s the use?  The only viable answer to that question was doubt-filled thoughts and feelings.  Doubt! Doubt! Doubt the value of feeling worthy enough to heal a heart broken by a narcissist mother! Shattered hopes and dead dreams long-buried and covered over with empty, vain love.  Under the guise of avoiding another failure would she let fear dictate the direction she should take.  In order to avoid a grief-filled desert buried with unshed tears.

What’s the point?  Echoed over and over in her grief stained mind. She didn’t deserve to experience the depth of grief she so adamantly avoided. And she would prove it to herself by once again ‘reaching for the painful thought’ that validated her not being worthy. It was an obsession she’d designed to make herself fail. It was an empty copy, a vain imagination thinking that’s what kept her from yet another failure. An all too familiar illusion of choice!

What did she need or have to do to change this unhealthy cycle of forbearing in a lie of her own making? 

“What? What? What?” She shouted to the heavens!

If only the floodgate of tears would release. Then perhaps she’d find relief from the frustrating backlash of doubt and pointlessness. Turning back to known pain was ultimately stagnating. She was tired of it and struggled to move past feeling emotionally stagnant.  It was an exhausting form of unintentional victim mentality.  She hated anything that reeked of victimhood one of her mother’s covert mo.’s.

Perhaps that was the paradigm shift she needed to make. Recognize she had been a victim of her mother’s narcissism.  She had covered up her mother’s multitude of sins not only to others but to herself!

“I hate this! Please don’t make me do this God!” She cried out and longed for tears of release to cover-up the word she so wanted to avoid.  The label; ‘victim!’

            A label she did not take lightly.  A word tossed about like common clay in today’s culture. Every fiber of her being balked at admitting she could have been a victim.  Her mother was not a monster. Her narcissism had been an insidious dictator. At the time Melissa hadn’t understood it was the motivator for their mother’s behavior.  But now was a different story and she could not continue to justify subjecting herself to its demanding needs.

She’d made the choice, all those years ago, to not become a victim as a result of her father’s sexual molestation.  To walk through inner healing and redemption that over time led to restoration.  She’d reconciled it as something done to her, not who she was. 

But now acknowledging narcissism’s abuse had been an ever-present aspect of her maternal relationship forced her to admit, that perhaps, maybe she’d been a victim.  And what did that mean?  She’d led a grace-filled life of cover -up. Which now demanded she take a cold hard look at how she’d unemotionally validated narcissism. In order to avoid the stark truth of the havoc, it’d wreaked in her heart and mind.

A broken shattered heart in need of healing which could only happen when victimhood was accepted, without conditions. She needed to embrace and understand the label as God intended, not as defined by the status quo.  Discover the value of acceptance with all its messy emotionalism.  Use it as the shovel to dig up buried emotions.  Not an easy choice, but necessary if she wanted to be well. 

She sat on the stone throne created by nature and prayed for a willingness to be made willing.  Prayed before her heart's throne as Christ did at Gethsemane “Not my will by yours.”  Prayed that in her weakness His strength be perfected. Prayed she’d complete what He’d begun. She prayed!

Seventeen

           Avoid the avoiders!  What a catch phrase!  To think that’s what she’d been doing. The evidence was blatantly apparent as she wrote the letter to mom.  It was an illusion of safety, avoid conflict or whatever threatened her sense of peace, better yet tranquility.  It felt like she’d come full circle. Once again dealing with peace at any cost not being peace. 

            How in heaven’s name was she to recognize the avoiders so she could avoid them.  Sometimes it seemed blatantly obvious, other times obtuse.  A classic example of avoidance was when Mom and Debe got into their slap fest and she’d dashed to a safe haven, her room. 

She protected her heart at all costs. Now was the time to uproot and tear down those things that so easily beset her.  The cost was being honest with herself. Regardless of how strongly her feelings wanted to deny the need too. Afterall her siblings were able too.

“Get on with it, old girl,” she admonished herself on day six of letter writing:

Guess what mother, Jennifer called. She described how she felt as GIDDY! She kept repeating; Free at last! Free at last! It took a couple minutes for her to calm down. She continually expressed how happy she was. When she finally calmed down, she stated; “I’ve waited my whole life for this! I’m free of her! I don’t ever have to talk to or have contact with her again!” To say she was ecstatic is an understatement!

       I asked what happened? She explained you called and said you were moving back to Quartzsite, AZ. She asked if you remembered the deal the two of you made when you left Oregon. That as long as you stayed at Anne’s she’d stay in contact with you. But, if you left Anne’s that’s it, she’s done.

       You justified your move with typical excuses. Anne doesn’t have time for you. She came home from work and spent all her time on the iPad. You’re too confined at her house. No one played games with you, etc.  etc.  etc. Same ole song and dance we’ve heard time and time and time again from you. 

       Jennifer confronted and reminded you of the deal you’d made.  She said she talked to you like she would one of her first graders. At one point she told you; ‘Mom you’re an adult and can do a you want.’ You got huffy and adamantly said; “Yes! And you can’t tell me what to do.” Jennifer repeated the consequence for your choosing to move. She was done and wanted no contact.

       You carried on about how she sounded just like Sam and Melissa, and something about the letter I wrote. Jennifer told you it had nothing to do with us. You made the choice to break the agreement the two of you had. The conversation ended with Jennifer calmly saying goodbye, and have a good life mom because I don’t want to hear from you ever again, nor will you be hearing from me.

       There is overwhelming relief in her voice. She is finally done with you! The only thing she ever wants to hear about you is that you’ve died. Just so she won’t have to wonder as time goes by. She hopes you have a service. There are a few things she would want to say that people probably wouldn’t want to hear, but she wants them to know.

       We talked for an hour, there was a lightness in Jennifer that hasn’t been there in years. I call and tell Sam what happened. A month prior you and him had gotten into it on the phone. You brought up the subject of how I shoved you to the floor and fractured your back. He figured ok you want to go there let’s go there.

       He didn’t defend me but tried to get you to see and admit how you contributed to the whole incident, when you lost your balance and fell. He said he tried four times and on the fourth time lost it. Why because you refused to admit you could have done anything wrong. 

       You kept talking about how crazy I was and the wild look in my eyes. Sam stated if that wasn’t a normal way for me to behave what could you have done to contribute to it. You refused to acknowledge any culpability. On the fourth try he said he lost it and came unglued.

       He let you know graphically and in no uncertain terms he was done with you. That until you could admit what you may have done wrong, he didn’t want to ever talk with you again. He was quite upset for having lost it to that degree. He hates it when he acts like such an asshole. He made a very telling comment, “Why do I keep someone in my life that causes me to sin that much!”

       He texted you that when you are ready to admit what you may have done wrong feel free to contact him. Otherwise he doesn’t want to hear from you. By Mother’s Day he relented a bit and sent you a mother day text where you replied, “Thank-you son, Love you.”

       When I tell him about your move and what Jennifer had done.  He is are fed up as well and text’s you while we’re talking about what a mistake you’re making and he too wants no contact with you. From my perspective it seems so easy for them. And here I am struggling with this to the point I’m going to counseling. It causes me to second guess myself and wonder if I’m making a mountain out of a molehill.

       By the time I go to counseling, a couple days later, I am distraught and in tears. I ask her if she thinks I’m making more out of this problem that is ‘mother’ than I should. We talk and by the time we’re done I feel better. She helped me see that because of how I carried the burden of you, its freed Sam and Jennifer to emotionally detach from you. My no longer carrying that burden freed them to physically be done with you. They had ‘honored’ you because after all you’re their mother, but their hearts were not in it.

       I on the other hand am sixty-three years old and just now coming to terms with the emotional trauma I’ve quenched concerning you. Depression had become a very nasty coping mechanism. It created a sense of guilt that is not my burden to bear. I struggle with letting myself be okay with being done with you. With the right help and guidance, I’m getting there. 

       I want to “get well” as my counselor calls it. I need to for oh so many reasons, that time will reveal. I need this for my well-being not yours. I have no misgivings that you will change in this lifetime. But I can and will with all my heart mind soul and strength let Christ set the captive in me free.  In Jesus name!

      Melissa lifted fingers from the keyboard. There was so much more she could write about. The letter was as complete as she could make it, for now.  Line upon line, it would be interesting to see what the next lines would be, only time would tell. 

            She stood and arched her back as she gazed out the window at the dark gray sky.  Nature had a way of reflecting the recesses of her soul. There were dark places she avoided and wasn’t ready to explore.  It was important, at times like this, to apply the fruit of the spirit to herself.  Patience, kindness and gentleness as her heart wrestled with the trauma of losing something she never really had, a mother’s nurturing unconditional love.

Sixteen

            Day five!  Melissa really wanted to finish the letter to mom.  She was ready to be done, but needed to be patient with the process.  The letter reminded her that regardless of how ingrained it was in her DNA she was not responsible for her mother’s choices.  It was a major paradigm shift to transition away from that overwhelming sense of responsibility. She didn’t want to continue to be defined by what she would, could or should do or be doing for her mother. 

‘Love covered a multitude of sins;’ wasn’t the mantra she needed running through her head.  No more cover up.  It was time to reveal the stark reality of her mother! She began to write;

Here’s another example of how I know telling you things would not have done any good!  When we lived in Juneau you dated Ed Tryon. It’s three years later and we live in Anchorage. I was eighteen, worked at Duty Free, lived at home. You called and said I needed to come home after work because Ed was in town and wanted to see us kids. I could barely remember Ed, but whatever, I figured it would just be a quick hi, which it was.

       The next morning, I got a call at work from Ed. He wanted to know if I could meet him for lunch.  We arranged to meet at the airport restaurant.  I was in a quandary about why he’d want to meet me. I figured it must have something to do with you.  We met, had a pleasant enough lunch. It was more than a bit odd because he never really talked about you. He kept asking about me.

       Then came the bombshell. He said he’d kept track of when I’d turn eighteen. He knew I’d turn out to be a beautiful young woman.  He wanted to know if he’d stand a chance with my dating him.  He’s a man in his late-thirties and I’m eighteen. To say I was stunned and shocked is an understatement!  I told him no and I was seriously dating someone.  He was disappointed but had wanted to at least try. He adamantly told me that if I became free to let him know.

       As soon as I got off work, I headed to Debe’s and told her what happened. She got mad and said your mother needs to know this. I frantically replied no it wouldn’t do any good. She insisted; off we went. We told you what happened. You refused to believe it, accused us of never liking Ed. We were trying to ruin any chance you may have with him again. It was an ugly confrontation. I, as usual, shut up, you and Debe continued to argue. That’s why I felt safe with Debe she always had my back! You on the other hand mother never had my back.

       It was always about how you felt. I recall when Jennifer’s heel practically got cut off in bicycle spokes. I stood by the edge of her bed in the emergency room. You stood in the corner. Wringing your hands because of how it made you ‘feel’ watching her get stitched up.

       Your way of consoling me as I struggled with infertility was to say; “The worlds too wicked to bring any more kids into it!” What made you think that was an appropriate thing to say to your heart-broken daughter?! 

       When Nicole died of a Heroin overdose; you called sobbing, wanting me to call and talk to the police because you couldn’t. Time and again you turned to me to do what you couldn’t. Guess what?!  I don’t want nor have to do that anymore. 

I get triggered and want to scream when people, thinking their helping to fix us, want to tell me our story and not listen to mine.  Afterall you’re an old lady and its supposed to be the children’s responsibility to make allowances for their parent’s ‘shortcomings.’ Once again, it’s a reminder of how, no matter what, it’s ultimately about you and how you feel.

       The move here was totally your idea. I have no regrets helping you move! I know I did everything I could. What I do regret is I let my guard down. Not because I didn’t think you would never want to move again. I expected you to. What I didn’t expect was to be usurped by people who couldn’t tell you no. I’m angry that you and they presumed I shouldn’t be upset or angry.

       I am livid at the lies you’ve told about me. You threw me under the bus for your compulsive desires. Changed the narrative to fit your twisted version of the story. As a result, a switch got flipped in me that can’t be flipped back. I wrestle with how relieved I am to not have you in my life.  Because it is so out of character for me, it scares me to feel good about saying; I’m done mother! 

       I emphatically never want to talk to you again! But sometimes my gentle soul does. Because I miss my mom. Then I realize it’s not you I want, but what a mom represents. In the past there was always a way to get past the BS and reconnect. This time you committed the ultimate act of abandonment. You’ve spread lies and made it impossible for unconditional reconciliation. 

A parent’s betrayal, regardless of one’s age, is heart wrenching.  For the first time in my life, I have the freedom to feel and express what I’ve kept bottled up all these years. I can acknowledge that you were the biggest contributor to the desperate feelings of loneliness I experienced as a child. Because of you I learned how to quite masterfully emotionally detach. I don’t have to quench emotions to keep the peace at any cost, because it’s the right thing to do.

       The right thing to do is express the crappiness you’ve caused in my life and what its effects have been on me emotionally. For instance, a light bulb went off recently when I recalled the female problem, I had at eighteen. You poo pooed it, insisted I didn’t need to go to no doctor.  I finally went when the pain was excruciating, I had no choice. Years later I would learn that’s what caused me to not be able to have kids.  Whereas if, as a concerned mother should have been, you would have taken me to the doctor maybe just maybe it would have been caught in time and I would have had kids! 

       I recognize there’s an unintended culpability there.  And I’m not blaming you. But now I have the freedom to recognize it as another example of how you put what you wanted above your child’s needs. I made allowances for you my whole life. No more! I’m done!

       Your actions have left me dumbfounded more times than I care to count. I am not devastated; I really don’t want to waste my time feeling that. I am mournful and knowing that helps alleviate the engulfing depression.

       I wish it hadn’t happened the way it did, but it did. I am remorseful but not ashamed. You want me to feel ashamed, because I didn’t want you to be happy and support your move, hence the lies.  Just as you did to me as a child; you are the one who needs a bar of soap stuck in your mouth! This letter is my bar of soap to you.

I’m choosing to no longer be double minded when it comes to your narcissism. I don’t have to make allowances for it which only leads to an instability in all my ways. My yes needs to be yes and my no needs to be no! I’m saying YES to getting well and NO to you in my life!

Figuratively I am cutting that cord between you and I. It was done physically a year ago. I need to cut the unhealthy emotional cord you ingrained in me. When I work through this process, I’ll be able to say ‘it is finished’ rather than just ‘I’m done!’

“Whew!” Melissa said, “Another day of unburied emotional baggage!”

She saved the document. It wasn’t quite finished yet. A sense of well-being settled into her soul. A renewed sense of hope hinted at the effectiveness of exposing buried pain. It didn’t matter that the letter would never be sent, only that it brought healing to the broken places deep in her heart. Places only God could reach as she stepped out in obedient faith and did the work to get well.

Fifteen

          “Day four!”  Melissa said as she sat at her desk and opened the laptop.  While it booted up, she recalled the number of phone calls she’d received since morning.  She’d never been able to figure out why Mondays ended up being such phone a day.  One after another, six all together.  She’d debated whether to even attempt continuing her mother letter, but she’d sleep better if she at least tried. After she formatted a new page her fingers danced across the keyboard. 

I’m done mother! What a statement to feel I have to make. It saddens me. I’m willing but not able to shed tears over you. Am I finally come to a place of admitting you were a lousy mother rather than justify your actions with “that’s just the way you are?” 

      A common feeling of the eldest child, and I’m no exception, is that problems in the family are my fault. But our problems are not my fault, it’s your fault mom you weren’t there for me as a mother should be.  I tried to make up for your shortcomings in my siblings’ lives, mine as well.

      I choose not to have a “victim” mentality, despite your failings as a mother. For my benefit, not yours, here are a few of the less than motherly actions on your part.

      When I turned fourteen one of my birthdays presents was a bottle of wine! Who does that? You would send Deb and I to the laundromat in the car when neither of us was old enough for a license. So, you wouldn’t have to be bothered with laundry. I get that parents give chores to their kids, but to let us take the car! I mean really! Was that very smart!

       I also believe you turned a blind eye to the times we thought we were sneaking out the trailer. Then we’d come home drunk and you’d ignore us. If you had an audience, you’d put on your mom hat and perform the necessary indignation. For your benefit, of course, not ours.

       Although to your credit you always told us that as long as we told you the truth about what we were doing we wouldn’t get in trouble. But if you caught us in a lie than there’d be hell to pay. How convenient for you, taking the responsibility off you and once again placing it on us. 

       Another odd thing is after you cut your long hair off and had a short hair style, you carried on about how I needed to cut my hair. I didn’t want to. I liked my long hair. I sat at the kitchen table eating. My hair pulled back in a pony tail when you came up behind me with a pair of scissors. I didn’t see you but felt you grab hold of my pony tail and snip, you cut several inches off! You were so pleased with yourself and laughed when I got mad. What the heck mother!! You passed it off as a joke, but I think there was something much deeper going on. You were jealous of me, a common theme I recognized off and on in my life.

       You loved it when people thought I was your sister not your daughter. It made you feel like you didn’t look your age but more mine. I wanted a mother not a sister! My friends always liked you because you were the “cool” mom! 

       When we lived in Juneau and I was on the drill team, you never came and watched one of our half time performances. Probably because they were on the weekend and that interfered with your party time. But then again maybe that’s why we moved back into town so you wouldn’t have to schlep me to practices. You moved us into a house within walking distance of the high school.

       When we lived in Juneau, I don’t recall who you were dating, imagine that, you would go on long weekend out of town trips.  Leaving me and Debe to watch two-year-old Jennifer and eleven-year-old Sam. You’re lucky we never got in serious trouble. Fortunately, typical teen ager shenanigans were our mo. Other than the séance weekend, but that’s a whole other story.

        I dated eighteen-year-old Buddy. To this day I shake my head when I think that you let him stay the night and sleep with me, your fourteen-year-old daughter! Fortunately, I wouldn’t have sex with him, but regardless it wouldn’t have bothered you if I had. I don’t recall you telling me to make sure I didn’t get pregnant. What would you have done if I had? I have no idea!

       Debe would call you out on your BS. I remember the two of you in the kitchen and you kept telling Debe to shut up. She wouldn’t of course. You slapped her. She slapped you back. You slapped her again. She slapped you! The whole time you were yelling at one another! I hated such outbursts and escaped to my bedroom. 

       Shortly after that you decided to move to Anchorage. It would have been Debe’s senior year and she didn’t want to change schools, AGAIN! She said no to moving, got a job, stayed in Juneau and lived with a friend. Once again you shipped Sam off to Dad’s. Surprisingly you let me stay in Juneau with friends of yours and finish out the school year. As I recall I really had to beg you to let me!

       As soon as I was out of school I flew to Anchorage, because you needed a babysitter for Jennifer for the summer!  I desperately missed Debe. She was my confidant; we had each other’s back.  We would fight tooth and nail, but I felt safe with Debbie around.  After the incident with Dad I was always on guard. Especially with all the different men that passed through our door. 

       I was fifteen when we moved to Anchorage. I spent that first summer, with no friends because school hadn’t started yet. I babysat Jennifer, read books, and watched the guys who lived next door come and go. One of those guys was Ed.

You dated Chuck that summer. I probably wouldn’t remember him if it wasn’t for what happened after you broke up with him. You were out partying one weekend. I was in the bedroom I shared with Sam and Jennifer. Sam was still at dad’s; Jennifer was in her crib. It was late at night. I was sitting in bed reading when I heard someone come stumbling in. 

At first, I thought it was you coming home. Then I heard a very slurred voice call out your name, it was a drunk Chuck. I froze, my stomach immediately went into knots. The only light on was by my bed. He stumbled down the hall. Pushed the bedroom door open.

Moments like that are rather surreal! I recall he had on a tan trench coat and an umbrella in one hand. My voice quivered as I told him mom wasn’t home and be quiet, he’d wake Jennifer. I had my purple baby doll pj’s on. He stumbled over to the bed and sat on the edge of it. I was terrified, he reeked of booze. Fear gripped my heart and mind!

The umbrella fell to the floor as he grabbed both arms and pinned me back against my pillows. His whisky infused breath hissed; “What would your mother do if she came home and found her darling daughter had been raped?”

       The world began to spin as my mind went blank. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t scream it would wake Jennifer! I whispered in terror; “You don’t want to do that!” He arrogantly challenged as he squeezed my arms tighter, “You asking me or telling me!”

       To this day I believe it was by the grace of God I softly replied as tears streamed down my cheeks; “I’m asking you.” That diffused and surprised him. Shocked him, that’s not what he expected. I think he expected me to act like you. After all everyone thought I look like you so I must act like you to. He looked confused as he sat back and hesitantly let go of my arms. He reached down for his umbrella, struggled to keep his balance as got up. He left and mumbled something about letting Betty know he’d stopped by.

       I was in shock! Unable to sleep until you came home! You saw my light on, stuck your head in and told me to turn that damn light off and quit reading. Again, I knew that I knew I couldn’t tell you what had happened. I don’t even remember if I told you Chuck stopped by. From then on whenever you were gone, I made sure doors were locked. That annoyed you because if you came home drunk you sometimes had a hard time unlocking the door.

        Some might say how can I blame you or hold something like that against you if I never told you about it. The point is I knew I couldn’t tell you about it. My analytical mind can understand the why’s. You didn't want to know because it reflected on the image you had of yourself as a mother. It’s another example of how far back I had to bury emotions. I knew I couldn’t trust you to take care of me and what I needed.

       Years later Chuck tracked you down to make amends. He’d been an alcoholic all his life and needed to apologize. He wasn’t specific about what; but to you it was just so nice to talk and catch up with him. What a feather in your gap that an old boyfriend would want to find you. You called me and were so giddy after talking with him. I wish I could say, if only you knew. But it wouldn’t have made a difference!

            She stopped!  It amazed her what memories flooded her soul. The emotions it awakened, but that was the point.  To honor and validate what she’d felt, not dismiss or dishonor them. It was oh so much easier to think and analyze than to feel.  She had to give her heart permission to grieve the loss of mom ever being a mom.  To acknowledge she’d went to mom and once again she wasn’t there as she should have been.

            It hurt to remember. She needed to find the words to describe the emotional pain.  To validate what she’d lost. Look at the memories from her perspective. Not constantly and consistently understand from her mother’s perspective. Enough was enough! She would unbury the pain, regardless the cost. Head in hands she prayed for strength to endure and complete what she’d begun.