Mother's worst nightmare

When a story such as this has such an immense amount of pain in its context, where does one begin? Perhaps I will begin where the pain passed down to generations, was nowhere seen, just yet. From the very first baby doll I was given, I knew that I always wanted to be a mother. I have loved children and pictured how perfect mine would someday be, nearly all of my life. Although, exceptional motherhood in itself was never clearly displayed for me. I am one of six sisters. And all through my teens, I felt as though my mother was sister number seven for various reasons. She was the "fun" mom, who had no limit to drama, or bedroom gossip for that matter. On the other hand, my father was a very strict Christian man in my teens so it was somewhat appealing to have such opposite parents. The struggles were nearly always complimented by the idea that I could choose which parts of each of them to take on as an attribute, or shy away from. I was always a thinker growing up so in that way, I would analyze most everything that I couldn't understand perfectly. The Christian I wanted to become would show much more compassion and humility then dad, and T.M.I. would be a very well known idea when it came to what I shared with my own children.

I believe this attribute began with someone I adored completely. My Grammy. Under her roof, July 4th became the best holiday of the year. Festivities began while sipping wine coolers, swimming, and tons of fireworks in the street with the U.S. anthem "Independence Day" on repeat. I loved my Grandmother Betty, whom we always called Grammy, very much. As well as her husband, Jim, or "Grampy", (my mother's step father) Who I did love very much as well until I was about 13 years old. That was the time my father made it clear to her, and gave my mother no choice but to express the truth about her past after dad figured out that she had been dishonest about how often we were able to see Grammy and Grampy. My mother had a secret that as her young daughters, we absolutely needed to know. This secret was hard to hear at that young age, but became much more unfathomable once I experienced motherhood myself. My mother sat all of us girls down and began crying during her expression of the horrible tragedy that she had experienced by being molested by "Grampy" from the young age of 8 until she was about 16. This man who was our messenger to Santa for Christmas, and never went a visit without expressing how proud he was of all my talents. At that age, not having a clear understanding, I only knew that he was very wrong, and in the worst kind of way.

As I got older, the questions, along with my curiosity grew... Why did my Grammy stay with this man? How was he not only free from prison, but a police officer himself? This family that took in exchange students from Japan. Could he have been this predator to any of those innocent students? I began learning more about my Grammy's horrific past when searching for these answers. And usually, those questions arose because of her verbalizing and rationalizing the perversion as being the result of my mom just "having that effect on men". It was a sickness that my Grammy may have been incapable of stopping. Beginning at age 6, she was in many ways 'sold' as a child by her own mother for money, drugs, and even just time alone. For that reason, sadly, my own mother suppressed her justifiable blame for Betty's decision to stay with this sexual predator. So many things began to unfold once the three of their truths had been unearthed. Yet the process was far from justifying. It was more like swallowing bits of poison with every idea that was brought to light.

It is unimaginable to most of us, to allow this to happen to your child once, let alone for 8 years. How could it be so overlooked? How could the shame not eat either Betty or Jim alive? Not only in this child abuse situation, but all of them? My Grammy was so kind to people and adopted rescue pets that no one else would rescue, in order to save them from almost certain death. This is when I had learned that the innocence lost by my Grammy at the hands of those thieves that so violently ripped it from her small hands, had all too much to do with her perverse way of looking the other way at this horrifying ordeal happening to her own child. And with the one man that was supposed to protect her and her family, not only as a husband, but as a police officer. When finding such compassion for animals, I saw the connection as a way for Betty to feel the unconditional love she lacked, and in her mind, might have made up for the lack of love she had shown her own daughter.

So how much compassion and leeway should be awarded to a mother that had herself gone through a horrific trauma? In my opinion, and from my experience, predators are and may always be all around us. But, more importantly, so are protective mothers. My mother had an incline about any sort of child abuse happening to her girls being a bullets best reason to leave the chamber. She put a stop to the delusion that she knew as "you are pretty, so men will try". With that said, finally expressing her difficult past, my mother very quickly became the victim in nearly every situation. Anywhere from the bad, married, sex crazed, and abusers in men she dated, to a diverse amount of unethical screaming matches with her children. I try and understand these dysfunctions with compassion, while still seeing the harm it is causing to see herself as 'broken' or "damaged goods" as she once explained.

This story is far more common than I would ever wish on any soul, but talking about it with complete honesty, in this story, was the beginning of therapeutic issues in a child of abuse becoming what they are rightfully capable of. This next part of the story reflects the present and how I have been affected indirectly by my family's perversion. I had my son 3 years ago and began having problems with getting myself back to "normal". After several tests, my doctor realized that I have not been producing estrogen since I got pregnant. This led to an ordered MRI to rule out a tumor, and that is when my life changed dramatically. They found two large aneurysms in my brain that needed to be 'Clipped" as soon as possible. This procedure was an open-brain surgery, and extremely scary to experience. The first was in January about six months after my mother had moved across the country to live with me. She was ready to try somewhere affordable and get to know my son. The brain surgery was very hard on me, so I felt that she was here for that reason, if nothing else. Shortly after discovering I would have to experience this ordeal again; Jim had passed on from this world. My mother had waited for this day since she was eight years old, and sought what she had always needed, closure. Well after working at a new job for about eight weeks, mom quit. The plan was to be here for me during the 2nd surgery, and get paid from the government in the meantime. Well, my 2nd surgery got postponed about eight weeks and that's when my mother realized she wanted to seize this great time to travel the country like never before. I agreed that she should, simply because being a single mother nearly all her life, this was the only opportunity she may have.

A few weeks before my mother began her adventure, she spoke to her mother. In my grandmother's exact words, she frustratingly said, "I just can't believe you're not going to his funeral to show your respects?!" and went on to say, "well, I guess you don't respect him then. I thought you were a forgiving "Christian" Christy?". That conversation had my mother crying for at least three days. I was angry, humiliated for her, and wanted to say all of the things I never said to Grammy. But mom wouldn't allow it. My grandmother also lost her brother the same week as her husband so she knew that if my mother plans to attend her uncle's funeral, but not Jim's, people might ask some much needed and uncomfortable questions. How sad for you, my dear. Your worst nightmare happened to you and then your own child. Yet, all you can imagine is that nightmare being just TRUTH. It is very hard to sympathize with someone who would rather belittle the betrayed then admit her own wrong doing. Well, I became the next victim in this tragedy. The entire year I spent having my mother as a guest in our home was fairly easy, until the day before she left on her cross-country adventure. My mother began calling me a bad mother (a week before Mother's Day at that), she took no blame for using the f word 3 feet from my baby boy, and on top pf all of that, never said goodbye to me. I was about to have my brain opened up and a goodbye was the least I expected from her.

See, for so many years, my mother had made it clear to us that we lived like saints compared to how she grew up. We could never respond to that in an ethical way, so we always let it go. I am 34 years old now, and am a damn good mother to boot, so when she said everything, she could have to hurt me. I said just LEAVE. I have tried to show her compassion my whole life, but that is not saying that she did not make it very hard for me. My mother finally came back literally the day my surgery was. This meant a lot to me, but the fear and bitterness was lingering all the while. After my surgery was finished, my mother-in-law (the wonderful cleaning lady that she is) cleaned my entire home! Including the wine off my mother's walls, pee-soaked bedding in her room from her old dog, and finally, since she was gone for two months nearly, my husband placed one box of my mother's belongings on her bed for her to organize when she got home. Having 50+ staples in my head, unable to lift my baby boy, and a depression that is a given with this type of operation was nothing to my mother compared to the 2 months of free money she had calling her name to finish that trip. So, the first thing she did when we pulled in? Started another fight. This time being how horrible she felt in our home because of the 1 box and cleaning that had been done. She was supposed to be there to help me walk, and lift my child for two weeks. Instead, I got a very fast goodbye and she drove off in the night. If I ever needed her to be my mother, it was now.

I would never excuse the behavior of these child abusers, but I do believe that the world has brought it to light enough for anyone to seek help. Whether it be through therapy, medication, or family and friend's wise words. Just listen. No one is 100% right, but the pattern for wrong in a person subject to severe child abuse can be far more damaging to those indirectly effected if you allow it without seeing yourself and the effect you may have in the situation. I do believe that my mother became a better mother than her own. Yet, all I can do now, is hope pray that I learn what to and what not to do when it comes to being the best I can be when my child calls me mommy. There is a balance to everything. What may work for me, might be disastrous for you and vice versa. But we cannot stop trying. The person who raised us, no matter what the circumstances, made us a fraction of who we are. Imagine a world that could recognize the good fraction from the bad and make each generation better? That would be a wonderful world to live in. So, in conclusion, lets help the mentally ill, by helping them become a happier version of the illness, instead of dragging around the baggage. Let it go.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this very personal and heart felt depiction of what life is for the generations after the abused.