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I haven’t dared delve into this subject for years. I’m in my mid-sixties; my family has been cut and torn into fragments, some have sunk, and a few have survived. Because of my mother’s illness I have siblings who are alcoholic or drug dependent, and others who “manage.” But we’ve all been so deeply damaged that almost everyday is a struggle, and almost everyday offers some kind of glorious reprieve. Even a visit to the library or going to work with people who aren’t like us is a respite.
My father is dead now, my mother still lives, but none of us are able to visit her without suffering months of depression, so none of us has seen her in more than twenty years.
We were abused, threatened, sexually harassed, and made to feel outcasts. Our friends were driven away and life descended into darkness until one day the police came and she was taken to the university hospital in our town.
I was the only one of age in our family (my father had left), and at eighteen I went before a hearing judge and asked for help. She was confined in a state mental hospital, later sent to a “home” where as far as I know she’s still cared for there.
The shadows of all that still cling to all of us. But, there is grace, there is some kind of reprieve and forgiveness, and so we continue….
