During a
recent visit one of my favorite aunties asked if I written anything new for
this blog, and I admitted that I hadn’t…mainly due to my scattered
attentions. I’m still substitute
teaching, working on my book, and taking care of my family (including the two
very needy dogs!), but I have also jumped headlong into the process of being
“polished” as AMTC likes to call it. It
is the process by which raw talent, and the possessor of it is trained,
discipled, encouraged, and empowered to present ourselves to a gathering of
some of the country’s most esteemed V.I.P’s.
These V.I.P.’s represent some of the biggest names in music,
modeling, and entertainment, so working toward becoming the kind of talent they
would like to employ is no small feat.
At the same
time I have been doing an incredible amount of internal work; work requiring a
ton of introspection, prayer, and talking.
Even AT&T has done its share by facilitating conference calls
between my sister, brother, and me.
Coming to terms with the death of a parent is one of the most
life-altering changes one can endure.
Coming to terms with the death of an abusive parents is a different kind
of matter altogether. And. It is very
hard work.
The three
of us have said, each at separate moments, that if you had asked us two years
ago if our childhood had been traumatic, we all would have said no. Ask us if our parents were abusive and we
would have said no way! But there is something about death that not only lifts
the veil of mystery, but jolts the sleepy awake as well. Once awake, those who were once sleepy, and now
left behind, are suddenly thrust forward into life much like the newborn babe
rudely delivered into a room colder than the womb it has just left, assaulted
by the glare of brutal lights and touched only by gloved hands. No skin to skin touch until the babe has been
poked, fiercely rubbed, weighed and assessed. Yeah, kinda like that.
It’s abrupt
and uncompassionate. When cancer took
our mom from our lives, it left a huge hole in our futures, and it left us to
deal with a past we were content to leave in the shadows. The three of us would tell you that it is a
horrible conflict to deal with, to suddenly see our mom as she had been during
the formative years of our lives, and still love her so fiercely. To say that she had been my mentor, my best
friend, and my biggest fan was easy. To
admit that she had been abusive was only something I was able to admit in
therapy. I think we all knew she was one
of the most talented, intelligent, yet conflicted people on the planet. She wrestled with herself constantly. I saw it, and couldn’t do anything to help
her, except to keep irritations to a minimum.
So, therein
lies a paradox. How can we say we love
one who has caused us pain? I mean, I’m
not the only one who’s had someone hurt them in some way, right? I’ve heard other stories of mistreatment by
parents, siblings, and others we trust with hearts, and the injured party still
loves the inflict-er of that pain.
Doesn’t make any sense! But maybe
it’s as easy as a wise friend in my character group said, “You’re not stupid.
You love because of Jesus”…despite the injury caused.
It’s not any
easier to admit my childhood wasn’t a fairytale, that there’s damage needing
healing, and that I’m gonna be at this for a while, but I can say with tons of fervor
that I loved my mama beyond description. Not in my own ability, but by Christ’s
gift of forgiveness.
And that is where I am finding peace.
