Twenty-two

            “Doofas!” Melissa fondly enveloped her brother in a big ole hug, “Get in here!”

            “Hey Sis,” Sam returned the bear hug, “Figured it was time to come see your old face!”

            Melissa slugged him in the shoulder and laughed, “Old!  That’s the pot calling the kettle black!  You joined the ‘60’s’ club last birthday, brother dearest!”

            “I’m still younger than you!” He mocked her.

            She stuck up three fingers stating, “Only by this much!”  Melissa stuck out her tongue as the last word. 

They jibber jabbered as Sam drug his stuff in and settled in the guest room.  He teased her about making sure he had clean sheets. He knew she escaped to the guest bed when Ed snored too loud.  He didn’t want any of her cooties, which resulted in another slug on the arm.

            “Where’s Ed?” Sam asked.

            “Ran to the liquor store. Said he didn’t have the scotch you liked,” she leaned on the door-jam as Sam un-packed.

            “He didn’t have to do that,” he protested. 

            “Too late,” she nonchalantly shrugged. “How was the drive down?”

            “As usual traffic through Seattle sucked!  They really need to do something about I-5! Portland’s almost as bad!”

            “So, I’ve heard!” Melissa remarked, “At least you made it safe and sound.”

            “No thanks to all the idiots on the road who love their idiocrasy,” Sam shook his head.

            Melissa guffawed, “Now that’s a perfect description if I ever heard one!”

            “I call um as I see um,” he grinned and placed his c-pap on the nightstand. “Believe me that’s mild compared to what I really think!”

            “Glad to hear you’re mellowing in your old age,” She said as they made their way to the kitchen. “You and Jen have road rage issues. But that’s what you two get for being city dwellers.”

            “We don’t have road rage issues! We just like to passionately express ourselves,” He smugly protested as he settled onto a barstool. “Something smells good.”

            “I figured you needed a decent meal so put a roast, potatoes, and carrots in the crock pot.”

            “Yum!  How is our little sister these days? I haven’t talked to her in a while.”

            “You know Jen, she’s busy doing what she loves, teaching.  The kids are busy with school.  Hard to believe Sarah will be a senior next year.  They’re already checking out colleges for her.”

            “I talked with Tim on Xbox last week, played Division together.  His voice is changing,” Sam smiled.

            “Well, it should! He turned fourteen last month,” Melissa said, “Jen said he stands eyeball to eyeball with her. He’s in size fourteen shoes.”

            “Man, how time flies!” Sam shook his head. “He’s going to be a big guy!”

            “He liked what the doctor told him, that he could get as tall as six four!”

            “I bet,” he laughed, “He seems like a pretty good kid.”

            “He is, both kids are.  Jen’s thankful that, so far,” Melissa knocked on wood, “neither of them have taken after her wild teenage ways.”

            “They have something she never had, a stable home life,” Sam stated with a nod.

            “True, she’s a great mom.”

            “You were a good role model for her,” Sam said, “Lord knows our mom wasn’t!”

            “I left home when she was five” she protested. “I think she figured out how to be a mom on her own.”

            “Don’t sell yourself short, Sis,” he said with sincerity, “We tell you all the time you’re the matriarch of the family.  If it weren’t for you being there, I don’t think we would’ve survived as well as we did.  Like Mom’s brother told you, the family expected us, kids, to end up in jail.”

            “Maybe so,” she grimaced, “you give me more credit than I deserve.”

            “I don’t think so!  Who do we call when we want to share our successes? Turn to when things aren’t going our way?  Share a funny with?  That would be you!”

            “I like it when you guys do that. I never wanted any of you to feel what I did as a kid. That no one was there for you.  I’m just glad I can be there for you guys!”

            “And that’s what we needed because mom wasn’t there for us. Oh, I know she was there to put a roof over our heads, food on the table, clothes on our backs.  Liked to think of herself as the fun mom. Our friends thought she was such a cool mom.  The bottom line is she wasn’t a mom, just a provider.  How many times, Sis, were you left to take care of Jen and I when she took off for a long weekend with some man?”

            “Several,” she plaintively replied.

            “That’s being too generous,” Sam admonished, “Dozens upon dozens I’m sure! What did you get in return from her? More responsibility!  As if that was rewarding enough!”

            “It wasn’t that bad!  She wasn’t a terrible mom,” Melissa protested, “We had a lot of freedom to do what we wanted, just so long as we didn’t lie to her.”

            “And therein lies the problem and why our Uncle figured we’d all end up in jail. Mom lucked out we didn’t get in more trouble.  I think of some of the crap I did and never got caught!  What kind of parenting is that?” He said with a frown.

            “I know! I know!” Melissa sighed, “That’s what I need to work on is admitting I tolerated the intolerable from mom.  I’ve always coped by comparing her to others who are ever so much worse than she was.  I have to stop doing that and look at how it really was.  Not cover it up with my go to; that’s just the way she is and always will be.”

            “Isn’t that what each of us has done?” Sam rhetorically asked, “Bought into the image Mom’s painted of herself. A Gypsy and proud of it. So, her kids should be as well. She likes thinking that’s what made us strong independent people, and there is a degree of truth in it.  I know a niece reinforced that in mom by telling her how she envied our self-confidence.  That was such a feather in mom’s cap.”

            “Don’t you think mom should get some credit for that?  I mean we are self-confident, successful people.”

            “Sis, it’s not because of her. It’s in spite of her. As I said, she lucked out. We made our own choices, and had to at a young age. What I want you to realize is we wouldn’t have been able to if you hadn’t been there for us.”

            “I hear what you’re saying,” Melissa softly said, “I had a melt down one day with Naomi. Trying to understand why it seemed easy for you and Jen to be so disengaged and done with mom.  She explained it was because I was there as your safety net, so you were free too.  As teenagers, you guys stopped respecting mom and were done with her.  I couldn’t and wasn’t able to because I was the parent.  Not only to you guys, but mom as well.  I remember a cousin telling me one time that it was as if I were the mom and mom the kid.  Jen’s told me when mom really wanted her to feel like she was in big trouble, she’d tell her; ‘I’m calling and telling Melissa what you did.’ I mean, how wrong is that!  It’s a wonder you guys don’t resent me, big time!”

            “What makes you think we don’t?” Sam smirked with a gleam in his eye then added, “Seriously Sis, I know all this mom crap has been eating at you. You need to let it go and get on with your life!”

            “Let’s just say I’m a work in progress,” she shyly replied.  “Naomi has given me some great, practical tools for “getting well.”  I’m getting there, honest.”

            “Good! You paid your dues with mom!  To hell with the people who don’t understand and think just because she’s old and a mom she deserves a pass on her shitty behavior as a mom,” he emphatically stated.

            Melissa laughed, “Leave it to you to cut to the chase! I still think your description of how she sounded on the phone when she called for your address is the best ever!”

            “You liked that did you!”  He said more than asked as he bobbed his eyebrows.

            “Big time!  I mean seriously, her cheese is really slipping off her cracker!  That was awesome!”  Melissa giggled as Sam let out a deep belly laugh.

            “What are you knot heads carrying on about?” Ed said startling the two of them.

            “Hey old man,” Sam stood, shook his brother-in-law’s hand and hugged him, “good to see you.”

            “Looks like you survived the drive down,” Ed slapped Sam on the back. 

            “Barely!” Sam grimaced, “I-5 is a royal pain in the arse!”

            “Better you than me,” Ed grinned wryly, “So what’s so funny?”

            “I reminded Sam of how he’d described mom slipping into dementia,” Melissa explained.

            “Oh, yea the cracker thing!”  Ed chuckled, “that was great!”

            “Of course, mom doesn’t think that’s the case,” Sam stated the obvious, “Just wait till her mind slips ever farther.  Now that’ll be very entertaining!”

            “You’ll be the one with a front row seat,” Melissa reminded him.

            “No problem,” Sam stated, “Like I told you, I’m waiting for the day I can say everything I’ve ever wanted to her. Knowing by the next day she’ll have forgotten it!”

            “More power to ya!” Melissa said.

            “You're more than welcome to join me,” Sam grinned.

            “No thank-you,” she shivered, “like I told her, if she ever sees me again it’ll be when she doesn’t know who I am.  But enough of mom. Ed why don’t you show Sam your new boat seats.  Maybe that’ll entice him to come back down and go fishing with you.”

            The men wandered out to the garage discussing boats, rods and how the worst day of fishing beat the best day of working.  Melissa tidied the kitchen and stilled the storm that threatened to rage within her, very thankful Sam had come down. He helped keep mother crap in perspective.  He and Jen were the only people who fully understood. There were plenty of tactics she could learn from them on how to handle the emotional baggage of their mom. She was grateful they were of the same mind set and had one another to lean on. If only those who didn’t understand were willing to listen to their stories. 

Twenty-One

            Melissa smiled, grateful for such a caring friend as Jan whose actions spoke louder than words.  Stopping by unexpectantly was so like her.  Jan always said what she appreciated most about their forty years of friendship was they never tried to change one another. Her thoughts wandered through kind paths of fellowship where the two of them had walked over the years. She felt blessed.

            Which by comparison contradicted the trite hodge-podge of emotions that flooded her soul when she thought of her mother. But it was a needed flood and not trite, she reminded herself.  For it meant the victim shovel was doing its work of unburying emotions.  A season for exposed emotion upon emotion just as God revealed things line upon line.

            “I am a captive set free!”  Melissa spontaneously declared.  “Restored to health that I might live an abundant life!”

            “What?”  Ed hollered from the kitchen, “You want something?”

            “No!” she grinned and yelled back, “Just talking to myself!”

            She heard him grumble. Smart man that he was, knew to leave well enough alone as to what he’d mumbled. He’d probably shook his head, thinking it best to take his coffee to the garage and lay low for a while. “Smart man,” she said as the door shut with a thud!

            Melissa laughed as she shuffled and sorted papers.  She was determined to make a dent in the pile that had built up on her desk.  Several things need to be pitched and another pile formed to be filed. There was always the miscellaneous pile that seemed to have a life of its own.  As usual, those papers were at the bottom, some had been there awhile.

            She stopped short when at the very bottom was a copy of the letter, she’d written to her mother the year before.  Of all the days to come across it; her mother’s birthday. 

            “Wow,” she whispered then slowly read it. 

Mother,

          I want you to know what I mean by “I am done.”

I will not answer your phone calls or call you.

I will delete your texts without reading them and I will not text you.

I will not open or read any cards or letters you send and I will not be sending you any cards or letters.

I will block you on Facebook and Instagram as well as any family or friends that could tell you what they see on my pages.

I will not visit you when I come to Arizona.

I want to be removed as your emergency contact information.

I want my name removed as the beneficiary on your life insurance policy.

Anne will now be the family member you turn to and depend on for help.  She will be responsible for having you cremated and ashes scattered.

These are not threat’s they are facts and I will not change my mind once you move.

This is what I mean by “I am done” if you “feel” you need to choose to be “independent and gypsy” rather than a relationship with your “dearest children.”

Melissa

            A flood of memories and emotions overwhelmed her heart and mind.  From the outside looking in the tone could be mistaken as harsh and unforgiving. Her emotions had been raw and ragged. Her mother heard it as hateful and mean, others agreed with her. They even told Melissa she’d given her mother ammunition to react and think that way about her because of the letter.

            She remembered the sleepless hours spent wracked with guilt that perhaps they were right.  When asked why she’d written such a letter, she explained it was an attempt to put the brakes on her mother’s foolish need to move, again.  She had to try something unexpected and never done before, define to her mother consequences for her actions.  The simple definition of insanity was trying the same thing and expecting different results. Melissa had to try something radically different, hoping for the impossible of shocking her mother into listening for once.

Hard to believe a year and a half had passed since she’d last seen or talked to her.  A year ago, she’d been immersed in battling the throes of depression because of her mother.  Ed had pressured her to seek counseling.  She’d resisted thinking, this too will pass. It hadn’t, but only got worse.  Finally, she’d sought counseling and ever so grateful for having done so.  It scared her to think if she’d waited any longer, she probably would have crossed that one more point on the depression scale into clinical depression.  She never ever wanted to be in such a dark place again.

Now she understood her depression had been the result of living a lifetime of tolerating the intolerable. The time had finally come to cease tolerating being forced to accept emotional betrayal and abandonment; just because that’s the way mother had and always would be. As the obedient, eldest, golden child it had been her duty to honor a narcissist mother regardless of her actions and cover her oh so many sins with love and acceptance.  It was a good Christian thing to do.

“If only it were that simple,” Melissa whispered.  She read the letter again, hearing what others could or would not.  It was a letter of desperation.  Desperate for a mother’s unconditional love.  Desperate that maybe, just maybe, she would choose her child over her own desires.  Pure desperation for what she’d always longed for, a mom.

It had taken months of counseling to realize she had no need to feel guilty.  Her mother’s choices were not her responsibility.  It was ok to be done.  To define what that meant.  The letter had been the catalyst for unleashing a lifetime of suppressed anger at having been abandoned and betrayed time and again.  A child’s desperate anger that cried out with a voice longing to finally be heard, unfortunately, that did not happened. 

            The circumstances surrounding her mother’s move had become a chaotic mess.  Looking back Melissa recognized if things hadn’t happened, the way they had, and despite the letter she would in all likely hood still be in contact with her mother.  For reasons beyond her control that was not the case. 

Melissa stared out the window pondering whether to recall the events of that time.  Would it act as a trigger leading to a depressive state?  Or was she ready to honestly remember and embrace it as a wound receiving its scar? Could she handle the emotions it unburied? Lord is it time? She silently asked.

Avoid the avoiders, Naomi had told her.  Avoidance was Melissa’s go to when confronted with undefined buried emotions.  What was she feeling in this moment?  She reached for her journal, found the emotion paper and discovered the words that best described what she felt.  Disconnected and ruffled. Why? She wondered with a frown.  Because she was afraid of what she’d feel if she acknowledged that desperate child who wrote the letter.

She’d never thought of the letter that way, an expression of desperation.  It had been birthed out of an anger and level of frustration she’d never given way to before.  Even her brother Sam had said he’d never heard her that angry, and when he’d asked why she couldn’t find words to explain why.  There had been a pure rawness to the rip she’d felt in her soul when her mother had decided to move behind her back. Then think it was okay to give her a letter to explain her reasons and for her to read it to Sam and Jen rather than tell them herself.  A searing pierced and ripped her heart asunder in that unforgettable moment frozen in time. 

A heart that didn’t know how to ask for what it needed. But reacted with a lifetime of pent up anger, some might call rage.  Perhaps that’s what she needed to acknowledge to herself was the degree of rage her mother’s betrayal had finally revealed.  A rage of desperation and longing that she had never allowed herself to feel, nor had others allowed her to.  Afterall it was her responsibility to be the stable one, be the rudder, maintain the illusion of stability and peace. 

It ruffled her to think others misunderstood and thought so little of her as to believe the narrative or lies her mother told about what happened. She felt judged. So, she had disconnected her emotions thinking, once again, she was protecting herself.  Afterall it’s what she’d always done. But this time it hadn’t worked. Instead depression had become an insidious taskmaster demanding she submit and rely on its darkness to protect her emotions.  What a liar!

Thankfully she was learning how to recognize and not believe the lies.  God’s lovingkindness supplied what she needed in those moments.  She’d chosen to seek the truth which prevailed over the lies.  Truth to set her captive emotions free.  Give herself permission to be misunderstood as she wrestled with her undefined simmering buried rage.

It reminded her of how Alaska’s summer’s forest fires had been explained.  The spring had been dry, with unseasonably low rain falls, record breaking heat and extreme winds stirred the fire into a frenzy.  The tundra’s duff had been exceedingly dry because of lack of permafrost.  As a result, the fire pierced to a foot deep and simmered just waiting for the right conditions to create a fire that burned not only above ground but deep into the roots.  A fire difficult to fight and bring under control. 

Only experienced professional fire fighters had been successful in managing the fire before conditions cooperated and allowed them to contain it.  There was still the threat in the following spring that with the right conditions the fire had simmered in the duff all winter and would flare up again. 

Melissa didn’t want to be like that fire.  With professional help she wanted to contain her rage and learn how to manage it when it flared.  Then and only then could she know she’d put it out for good.  But she didn’t want to ignore its potential either.  Fire was good for healing a forest and making way for new growth.  God said His fire burned away life’s dross. So too, her personal fires were to be a time of healing and new growth.

She had never expected her mother’s narcissism to be the catalyst that unleashed a fire to burn the dross of tolerating the intolerable. Only God in Heaven knew why at sixty-two years old it was time for such drastic measures to set her free.  Her mother was eighty and seemingly in need of her children to care for her as the mind slipped into dementia and body succumbed to aging.

Yet God used the foolish things of the world to confound the wise. Not being there for her mother seemed oh so foolish.  But Melissa knew that she knew her mother was in God’s very capable hands of making sure her needs would be met.  She may not trust her mother, but more importantly she trusted God to do as He’d promised. 

Melissa raised the letter and remembered the circumstances which caused her to write it.  There were no regrets, only a sadness for having felt the need to write it.  She couldn’t help but indulge in a few, if only this had been said or done differently than… But in all reality, it would have been an effort in futility and she’d been stuck in the intolerable for the rest of her life, even after her mother passed. 

            One thing she did know, she would not know the why of the purpose of this mess until she stood face to face with her Father in Heaven.  For now, she was to be obedient and not sacrifice herself to what others expected of her concerning mother.  The ache in her soul that longed for the touch of a nurturing mother’s love cried out with an indescribable pain.  A forgotten child’s buried wound of desperation in need of a scar.  

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!