...what have I gotten myself into?

I'm not really sure how to handle this. Mom's having repressed memories surfacing now, and talking to her siblings about them... they created a sort of timeline of certain events, which triggered the memories to come forth from their murky grave. And on one hand I'm honored that Mom feels she's able to talk with me about this, but on the other hand, I'm horrified to hear what happened to her as a child. She describes the bruises that were commonplace, all the way from her armpits to her knees, the skin splitting and scabbing because of repeated beatings that layered welts over welts... my uncle being locked in a sewing closet for six weeks because of the errors in his schoolwork. (Come to find out, he's dyslexic. That's why he had such trouble with school. The beatings, the isolation... none of that helped any. Did they think it would?) I thought I went through hell. Yeah, right. My childhood was a walk in the park compared to my mom's.

My mom's dad, who was the main abuser, is dead. My gramma, who was the enabler and sometimes abusive herself (still not sure where she was on the spectrum of things) is still alive and well. When she came down with cancer, she went through chemo, and apparently lost a lot of her memory. Mom says that gramma doesn't remember any of what she was telling me this morning. She's lost it, or repressed it herself. And even Mom says that Gramma is a different person now, not who she used to be.

But that doesn't change the fact that I'm living with... that.

I've never experienced her to be abusive at all. Passive agressive, yeah. But abusive? No way! I mean, just this morning, she told me I was doing "a bang up job around the place" (i.e. keeping the place nice and clean-- we're both neat-nicks).

It's just weird.

But I got to pray with my mom. And I got to empathize with her. I didn't have all these memories crashing in on me at once like she did, and it's no wonder she's having a hard time handling it. I get that. I've been through the darkness that's so thick and deep you think it's going to eat you alive. So I shared some of my experiences with her... but I also shared the hope of God's healing. It's hard now, but it's worth it. She's seeing her counselor on Monday.

And THAT in and of itself is a miracle of God's timing. They didn't even have a counselor until last week, and that started because I had been doing counseling myself, and was able to share with R how inexpensive our insurance made it, which he didn't know.

So after I prayed with Mom, I went for a walk. I have a lot of feelings swirling inside me right now, too. Anger. Disgust. Sadness. Grief. Righteous rage. (Can I call it that? It's WAY more than indignation!) Uncertainty.

This should never, EVER happen to a child!! Dear God, why is my family so sick? Why this generational sweep of pain and hurt and dysfunction? What does this mean for me? Is there some sort of inherent flaw in our genetic code? I tell you this much-- it stops here. No child will ever, ever experience those things from me. No child, and no person. It stops here.

Sweet Jesus, please come soon. We're falling apart...

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