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No Guaranties


 Lately, I’ve been pretty intrigued by art as expression of emotion. I’ve been spending some of my free time searching for art and really contemplating them. I’m honestly quite ignorant when it comes to art, so maybe this Picasso painting is familiar to you. But this weeping woman really captured me and in so many ways depicts how I feel right now. Yesterday in one of the groups I began to cry. I’m not really one to cry. Very rarely do tears flow from my eyes. But yesterday I felt the pain so greatly that the tears came even though they were not a welcomed friend to me.

We were talking about death and sadness. And I was reminded of some very painful words my brother spoke to me in the late fall. He said that my mom has been saying that she will be dead within five years because of all the stress that I have caused her. As some of my readers will know, I have been in and out of the hospital a few times in the past months, totally 6 and a half weeks altogether. I tried so hard to figure out what had gone down to make things so very bad. And it wasn’t until near the end of my last hospital stay that I started to get a clearer picture. It was these words that my brother spoke that created an ache so deep within me that I cannot put fully into words. My mom turned 50 this year and has significant health risks for a heart attack. For seven years I have held on to the hope that we will be reconciled. But the problem is, there are no guarantees.

I believed with all my heart that I would be reconciled with my grandmother. About a week before her death, I was finally allowed to be told that she was dying and only on the condition that I would not contact her. I showed up to the funeral with a couple of beautiful roses and a card in which I had written my goodbyes. I laid them in the casket not knowing if my words would ever actually reach my grandmother  now that she has left this world. I believe in heaven and the new resurrection, but I believe without knowledge of what this is really like, whether earthly relationships matter once you see God Almighty in all His glory. All I knew was that I needed to say goodbye and that I loved my grandma. What a painful day that was. I talked in a recent post about feeling like I was a criminal. The day of the funeral, that feeling was so very real. I listened in shock as my Uncle read out the pallbearers and honorary pallbearers. Each family member was named. I was not.

My brother’s comment to me – whether true or not – hits hard at one of my deepest fears. What if my mom passes before we are reconciled? What if she has a heart attack and dies? I brought this to group and shared how I feel like I have taken my siblings father away from them, and maybe possibly their mother as well. I feel tremendous weight in all of this. I know with my head that it is not my fault. I know my dad will go to jail because of the crimes he has committed. I know that the stress on my mom’s life is ultimately because of the crimes my dad committed and the choices she has made since that came to light.

But if she died, would any of this head knowledge really matter?

My mom has made very hurtful choices since I left home. I honestly am only beginning to face this. But when all is said and done, she is my mom. And I love her. And I long deeply to have her a part of my life. I’ve been really sick with a bad cold this week which is only just beginning to fade away. But each day I came home from the group exhausted and worn, and feeling so sick. And my strongest desire was to have my mom make me a cup of tea and sit with me.

Tears well up in my eyes as I write this. So much has happened in the past seven years. So much has happened since I was a little girl in the pictures of my last post. There is so much denial on her part right now and so much anger and animosity towards me. I’m eager to get started on reconciliation. But the appeal documents that i was given recently show that nothing has changed in seven years. In the coming months, my dad will most likely go to jail which I am sure will bring a whole other layer of hurt onto my mom. And then maybe, she will face reality. But I have an advantage over her – I have been facing the reality of the abuse and its effects and all that has gone down since for seven years. I have broken many areas of denial. How long will it take for her to be ready to face the truth, to hear my story? And how long will it take to actually work towards reconciliation?

Is there enough time?

I weep, like the woman Picasso so masterfully paints, because there are no guarantees.

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