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.