Five

Five

            “I don’t even know where to begin,” Melissa said to Naomi.  “I seem to be getting better, when WHAM out of the blue something comes along and wants to pull the rug out from under me.”

            “Like what?”  Naomi queried.

            “I talked to my sister a couple days ago. Who talked to mom and she’s moving back to that god forsaken place I moved her out of two years ago!”  Melissa’s head dropped with resignation.  “I then talked to my brother who laughs and says what we always say; ‘That’s mom for ya!”

            “Why does that feel like the rug is being pulled out?”  She asked.

            “It really bothers me that mom is back where she has no business living on her own!  But she’s the one who created this gawd-awful situation so that I can’t help her. Yet I really don’t want to, which makes me feel guilty!  But I just can’t do it anymore!”  Tears welled up in Melissa’s eyes.

            “Your mom makes her own choices;” Naomi calmly explained again. “You are not responsible for her. You feel betrayed and need to grieve the loss of your mom having never been a mom.”

            “Sam says that all the time,” Melissa wiped away a tear, “She may have been our mother, but she was never a mom.  He and Jennifer want nothing to do with her! They’re able to blow her off and not have any regrets. I don’t know how to get there!”

            “I suspect they’re able to do that because you’ve always been there for them when your mother wasn’t. As well as deal with her when they couldn’t or wouldn’t.”

            “I’m just not wired like them. Jennifer says I have a far gentler soul than they do,” Melissa said with a wry grin.  “I’ve asked them when they knew they were emotionally done with mom.  I find it ironic, even though there’s a ten-year age difference between them, that it happened when they were both fourteen.”

            “What were you doing at fourteen?” Naomi asked.

            Melissa leaned back into the sofa and shook her head; “What was I doing? I was taking care of Jennifer. Changing diapers, feeding her, getting up in the middle of the night.  I almost didn’t get to pass the eighth grade because of so many absences.  We moved from Oregon back to Alaska when she was a month old.  Mom had just gotten a job and couldn’t afford a sitter.  It was easier to keep me home.  Fortunately, some friends of hers helped watch Jennifer so I could go to school and I passed.”

            “Your mom depended an awful lot on you didn’t she,” Naomi said more than asked.

            “Mom got married to my dad when she was fifteen, and not because she had to!  Believe me I figured that one out when I was a teenager.  She was sixteen when I was born.  Three years later Sam came along.  Even when she was still married to Dad, they moved a lot.”  Melissa rolled her eyes, “I've often thought it’s because their families had been migrant farm workers.  Even though that’s not the work dad still did he followed jobs around.  We were always living in a new place; they didn’t know anybody so from a very young age they’d go out and leave me to watch Sam.  I was the oldest and being responsible was my job, so to say.”

            “Responsibility was ingrained in you at a very young age,” Naomi stated.

            “Yep,” she nodded, “After mom and dad divorced and Jennifer was born, her dad ran off when he found out mom was pregnant. I became what I later learned to call being moms surrogate spouse.  She depended on me to do what she couldn’t. Because after all she worked two jobs, kept a roof over our heads and felt like she deserved a break by having an ‘active’ dating life to put it nicely.”  Melissa did air quotes.  “I didn’t have the luxury of realizing I could be emotionally done with her at fourteen, like Sam and Jennifer.  Looking back, I tried to the best of my ability to do and be for them what mom couldn’t or wouldn’t do.”

            “How did all that responsibility make you feel?”

            “Good question,” Melissa sighed, “At times very overwhelmed! But I didn’t have time to dwell on it. My teen age years were very unorthodox, to put it mildly.  Mom was more like a friend to have fun with than a parent. On my fifteenth birthday she gave me a bottle of wine, made me feel very adult like she thought I was doing a good job.”

            “I suspect you have many stories to recall but our time is almost up,” Naomi leaned forward, elbows on knees, “You need to unbury the emotional pain concerning your mother, or not, it’s up to you.”

            “If I don’t?” Melissa asked with hesitation.

            “You don’t have to,” Naomi reassured her, “but then you have to ask yourself why are you here?  Do you want to be well, continue as you always have, or do you want to get well?”

            “I want to get well,” she answered with confidence, “I didn’t like that the test you had me take showed I was one point away from falling into clinical depression.  Non-clinical depression is bad enough!”

            “I want you to write a letter to you mom, that will never be sent,” Naomi advised. “Write how you felt betrayed and abandoned by her.  Validate your grief.  Don’t swallow your emotions, tap into the pain you feel.  Acknowledge the pain you weren’t allowed to feel along the way.  You’ll have to resist the temptation to be analytical about your experiences.  Honor your pain Melissa.  Pray and let the Lord walk you through this process.  You think you can write such a letter?”

            “I believe so,” Melissa frowned and added, “I have a friend that wrote such a letter to her mom and it was very cathartic.”

            “Remember there’s no right or wrong way to write your letter.  Emotions are a very powerful force, writing is a safe way to awaken them,” Naomi reassured her adding with a smile, “After all you are a writer, that doesn’t mean it will be easy for you but you have the skills.”

            “Gee thanks,” she grinned, “I’m glad someone has confidence in me.”

            “I have the utmost confidence in you,” Naomi stood up.

            Melissa pulled her jacket back on as she stood, “This should be an interesting process.  I’ll work on it this week.”

            “Don’t make it a burdensome thing.  That would defeat the purpose,” Naomi said as they stepped out the door, “Be honest with yourself, let the truth set you free.”

            “Amen to being set free!”  Melissa agreed.

            “I’ll see you next week,” Naomi said.

            Melissa pulled her hood up as she dashed to her car in a downpour.  Her thoughts raced with memories she could write about.  There were so many how could she possible narrow it down.  Where should she start?  Part of her balked at the idea of digging up long buried pain.  The Lord had been showing her, during her quiet time with Him, that her heart had been shattered.  It was time for her to embrace the healing of a broken heart, despite the fact she felt she was too old for such things.