My own mother is doing quite well, but someone close to me is helping to care for someone who might be in a state of decline. I am wondering if there are serious questions or topics that we will wish we had talked about during the lucid moments. Thanks for your ideas.
My family appeared from the outside to be normal and happy, but on the inside, we were anything but that. I won't go into the details, but I'm sure you'll get the idea by the time I'm done. I will say that my mother should have left my father when I was 10 and told her what was happening in our house, to all of us kids, under her nose. I was the only one that would tell her - my siblings were afraid to, because they'd been told it would break up the family...and divorce was still a somewhat taboo subject in those days - especially for devout Catholics like our family was supposed to be. She didn't leave. She stayed with him, and because she did, all 4 of us kids were dragged along wtih her. Amazingly, we learned to forgive our father for something he should have gone to prison for, and even to love him again, to some extent - but that doesn't mean we ever forgot, or ever put ourselves or him in a position where the problems could start again. He and Mom stayed together, but I learned many years later that they slept in separate beds for the rest of their marriage, and she never, ever let him forget what he did. She told me once that she stayed with him because she knew if she did, he'd never do anything like that again, because he'd know she was always watching him. But another time, she told me she fought to keep our family together, because it was the right thing to do...which totally confuses me. I sometimes wonder if she stayed because she was afraid to try and make it on her own with 4 kids to support, because she'd always been a housewife, or worked part time jobs like housekeeping or cleaning.
All of us married very young and got out of the house at the first possible opportunity, which ended badly a couple of us. We have become professionals at masking pain, hiding our feelings, and making believe everything is ok, when it's not. Because our mom chose to stay with Dad, we were all forced into this farce of a happy family, pretending that nothing ever happened. We compartmentalized the pain and trauma of the past and went on with our lives. There are dreams, nightmares and flashbacks - but for the most part, we just don't talk "about Dad" - that's our code phrase for the whole mess of our early childhood - "it's about Dad", or "I didn't tell them 'about Dad'".
When Dad died last year, all of us were left with a huge list of unanswered questions - and now we'll never get the answers. I don't know that we would have gotten the answers even when he was alive. We all went through some therapy/counseling years ago, but the questions were never fully answered. We have our theories, but without confirmation, they're just that - theories. We all know that Dad's actions will never be repeated by any of us - that cycle of abuse died with him.
His death hurt more than we ever thought it would, because in spite of what he did to us in our childhood years, there were some very good times - camping, fishing, trips to our grandparents' homes in the summer, holidays...and the knowledge the man had was incredible. He knew every bird by name and could name them just by hearing their calls - and could imitate those calls flawlessly. Squirrels and chipmunks would eat out of his hands. He could build incredible things with those hands - he made building signs and crafts out of wood that were amazing. Each of us girls has a cedar hope chest he made by hand out of scraps of wood he got from local businesses and contractors. The concrete floor of the garage made his back hurt when he stood on it for too long, so he took those same scraps of wood, and pieced them together like a jigsaw puzzle to make a wood floor for the garage. He knew everything about cars, how to make homemade paint, how to build a treehouse....and how to destroy a child's confidence and sense of self. I have good memories of my childhood, but I also have a lot of missing memories, or shaded memories that haunt my thoughts like an old television caught between stations - I can see images and hear words, but not all of them, and it's kind of fuzzy. I can't tell you how many times Mom has said, "You remember when we went to (insert place name here)?" - and I have to tell her I have no recollection at all of being in that place, because for some reason, my mind has blocked that memory out.
Now that I am in charge of the house and caring for Mom, the questions are endless. Where is the deed to the house? Dad was a meticulous record-keeper, but the deed is missing. I had to go to the county clerk to get a copy. Where is their marriage license? I can't find that either - another trip to the county office. Why does the furnace make that noise? Should I buy this van to transport Mom around, or that one? How often should the water softener salt be delivered? And most of all...WHY?? Why did you twist our childhood into something that had to be hidden, pushed under the rug, not talked about? Was this same abuse perpetrated against you as a child, and you didn't know anything different?
Sorry, I know this was long (I warned you ahead of time..lol), but this question just struck a chord for me. Sometimes our relationships with our parents are such complicated things...and their passing only makes things worse. You'd think that the passing of an abuser would be a relief - like a weight lifted - but for us, it's just left so many things unsaid. We forgave Dad long ago, and told him so, but it just doesn't seem to be enough.
Looking back, those roles took time from me that I should have spent sitting and holding each of my parent's hands. I regret letting the nurse in me think that dad was hallucinating rather than talking with angels and loved ones that already passed. He even asked me once, "Who is that guy standing in the corner?" I should have asked him, "Does he look like a familiar face?", rather than stating, "There is no one there dad."
Because I was grieving before my dad was even dead, I spent my 50th birthday at home, alone, instead of going to their home, because the thought of this birthday being the last with my dad at my side, was too hard to accept. He died 13 days later.
In my dad's last minutes of his life, my kids were all at grandpa's side holding his hand, but I was on the phone talking to a sibling who was asking what was going on because he had gotten a message from Hospice, but continued to be in denial. Since none of my siblings were of any help through this dying process, I should have just hung up the phone after telling him to communicate with Hospice. I didn't get to say,"I'll be okay dad, go be in peace. I love you and will see you again."
I did better with my mom when she was in her last days. I did tell her she was a great mom and told her to "go be with dad, he's waiting for you". They were married for 55 years. Once again, siblings refused to accept her imminent death, were in denial, and caused turmoil.But, I didn't let it shake me this time. I realized it was THEIR feelings of guilt, not mine. I had to daily remind myself that I did the best I could, in the roles that my parent's asked of me. They were awesome parents! I miss them daily but I am so happy my kids, husband and myself spent so much time with them in their last years.
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