Chosen Paths

Sometimes, the past rears up in front of us with little warning. 

I remember a time, in the mid to late 80’s, when I found myself in a hospital emergency room trying to decide what I should do. On my left was a doctor who had called the police because I had been punched in the face and my nose was broken. To the right stood my mother (and another person I can not remember) who said to me: “How can you do this to your father?”

This wasn’t the first broken nose I had received from the fist of my father. And, sadly, it wouldn’t be the last time he physically attacked me. 

“If you didn’t talk back he wouldn’t hit you.”

“You just need to keep your mouth shut.”

“You know how he gets when he’s mad.”

“You bring this on yourself.”

I never completely believed what was said to me but I tried to comply, anyway, just so I wouldn’t be hurt. I guess I believed it enough, though, because I thought maybe it would work. It didn’t.

The last time I saw my parents was near the one year anniversary of my daughter’s death. They’d just picked me up from my stay at an inpatient mental health care facility. We got back to my house and things went horribly wrong. This was nearly fifteen years ago so I can’t recall exactly what jump started his anger this time. Let me say this: no matter what was said his hands should not have ended up around my throat as he squeezed as tightly as he could.

It was at that precise moment that I knew I could not survive the loss of my child as well as put up with the toxic chaos that repeated itself periodically in our lives together. I knew this would be the last time I threw them out of my house and I was finished. Sadly, it is one of the best decisions I have ever made in my life. It’s allowed me to truly heal in a lasting way.

Here’s where the past makes itself visible.

This past week our family lost a member. My aunt died unexpectedly in her sleep. I wasn’t sure if I was going to attend the funeral but in the end I decided to go. I knew there was a chance that my father, mother, and sister might be there, too. Wanting to support my cousins seemed much more important than worrying about a meeting with my family. On the way there I called another cousin to tell her I was on my way. She told me that my mother was there. Instantly, I got a sick feeling in my stomach. I felt like I needed to be on guard. Though my mother never physically abused me she rarely kept me safe. 

I learned at a young age that I was dispensable. My sister and I were told by my father that we were secondary. My mother came first. He  explained: “After you two are gone it will just be her and I”.My mother apparently felt returning the sentiment with her actions was more important than protecting us. Especially me. She was the one who said those things to me that I listed above. Instead of standing up for me she told me to be smaller. Quieter. Less noticeable. And, when it came down to the line . . . she chastised me for even daring to betray the man who’d broken my nose for the third time. 

All of this came rushing back as I drove to the funeral home. I started to spin into a state of anxiousness and feelings of “not good enough”. Then, after talking to my friend on the phone, I told myself to stop. I wasn’t that person anymore. I am strong. I’ve fought too hard to get where I am to worry about one person and what they thought of me. As I pulled into a parking space I knew that I was going to be just fine. 

My mother wasn’t there when I got there. She and other family members had gone to get something to eat. The first person I saw from the group was an aunt. She said: “You know your mother’s here, right?”. I said yes and then a few moments later my mother came out of the bathroom. My breath caught. She looked at me. No emotion crossed her face. I’m told she didn’t recognize me. 

I thought I’d feel angry when I saw her. I didn’t. Or, possibly, a longing for her. I didn’t feel that either. The only emotion I felt for her was sadness.

Not sadness because she isn’t in my life. Nor one that is born of missing her. I don’t miss her. I feel sorry that she has chosen to live the life she has. The one that has forced her to stand by as her child was abused. The one that has kept her from knowing her incredible grandsons. I feel sadness because she came from a broken place as a young person and never seemed to escape it. I feel sorrow for her.

I was told that she said if she’d known it was me then she would have said hello. I’ve also been told that when she did know it was me she chose not to say hello. In truth, I am glad she didn’t. Years ago, I had to make a decision I felt necessary to save myself and I am happy I did. I wouldn’t change anything in reference to this whole event.

Surviving the death of a child is beyond difficult. Some parents never figure out how to come back from the hell we are thrust into. Thankfully, I found my footing and I’ve been doing what I need to do in order to keep moving forward. I put my healing at the top of my “must do” list and I won’t ever apologize for that. 

Seeing her this week reaffirmed the decision I made years ago.

All of this being said: I do believe my parents did the best they could with who they were and what they knew. At the time. I’ve grown past that. I’ll never go back.

The only thing that brings tears to my eyes is thinking about how heartbroken my Becca would be at the distance between all of us. I think she was the glue that held us together for so long. If she were here she would be sad. I believe, and hope, that where she is . . . she understands the bigger picture and knows why I’ve made the decisions I’ve made.

I’m at peace on the path I’ve chosen.

A side note:

Nobody has the right to abuse you. Including, and especially, family. The notion that blood somehow ties us together in a way that contact should never be broken is ridiculous. Toxic relationships, whether by someone related to you or not, are damaging to our psyche and self worth. In addition, we can understand where someone is coming from and decide not to accept the behavior in our life. Protecting yourself is valid. You owe nothing to anyone when it comes to your physical and mental health.