Part of My Story

Was talking to a friend the other day and had a real epiphany about my mother. Really. For many years I have on occasion talked about her in sometimes not glowing terms. She was a troubled woman from about 1950 on. I always assumed that the relationship she had with my father was the reason for her alternating depressions and bouts of protectiveness. And she was a lapsed Catholic and never recovered from that. And she was sexually abused by her sister’s husband when she was 10 to about 13. All reasons for her being the way she was.
Now I think there is a new element in the mix that could explain the timing. I was sexually abused by a cousin when I was 5 or 6 or 7, and she insisted that only she and I would ever know. So she never, as far as I know, told my father, his sister or anyone else. It would make sense if she felt guilty for not protecting me from the cousin. Her behavior viewed from this angle fits.
My behavior as a10 year old and up was rebellious and I wonder if she felt responsible somehow. And possibly every time I got myself in trouble she felt somehow that she had let me down and blamed herself. Then got depressed. This would make me an unwitting cause of her suffering.

She died youngish, 67, of what amounts self-abuse. She was a heavy smoker and user of many prescription drugs for depression, asthma and digestive issues and pain, all except smoking started around 1950.  Who really can know what was going on in her mind after years of electroconvulsive therapy, “happy pills” etc.? The answer is “no one”. I think, though, that the guilt she must have felt was a part of who she was, and how she was. Looking back from my perspective now I say to her “Ma, you did the very best you could with what you had. You did nothing wrong. The only thing you are guilty of is loving me. If you need to be forgiven then I forgive you. But please, forgive yourself. You were the best Ma you could have been. That is enough for me.”

And strangely (or not) I have lit candles for her in most Catholic churches and Cathedrals I have visited in Europe. I am not a believer, but somehow it felt right to do that simple act. Probably my behavior and hers are tied in some intricate knot of emotion, love, guilt and survival.

Anyway, that’s part of my story.

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