Yesterday I had a really good time with my mum. Her Birthday, January 11th, had been a bit of a wash-out and I'd been feeling sort of guilty and helpless at the same time. I wanted to feel connected to her and to life itself, but instead it's like I was somewhat separated from my own body and unable to be what I think of as 'myself'.
Fortunately I felt Me come back yesterday ... I imagine it's like that part in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory where Mike TV gets scattered during the transmission ... little pieces flying everywhere. Some fairly big pieces slotted into place as I lay on the beach and went to sleep. I felt like I'd been out for an hour, but mum reckons it was only 15 minutes.
I just finished reading a book by a woman who was raised to be a prostitute by her father. His cruelty and insanity reminded me of the stories I've heard about my own long-dead grandfather and his legendary levels of violent abuse. He didn't rape his children or force them into prostitution, but the mind games and beatings were beyond anything I can imagine. He was severely mentally unwell and obviously went untreated for most of his life. He had Paranoid Schizophrenia. He eventually attempted to kill my Nanna when she left him. My mum was 15 when that happened, and my Nanna only barely escaped with her life. Amazing what a man can do with a crow-bar.
I talked to mum about it briefly yesterday. Maria Landon's book 'Daddy's Little Earner', isn't very well written, but it did help because it's almost like another 'witness'.
Now that mum's sister, Aunty Sandy, is dead, and so is Nanna, the last of her life witnesses are gone. It isn't that she wants to keep a 'victim story' alive, but in order to move on from it I think there has to be a person who remembers, who can say 'I get why it's hard' without trying to wallow in the pain. Mum does have a younger brother and sister, but they do not remember the violence. My younger Aunt was also exempted from it as she had almost died as a baby and this made her special in his eyes and kept her protected from her father's murderous rage.
So there we were, sitting on the beach at Murray's Bay, the sun is shining, and I have to bring up this heavy topic. Mum was in a really good frame of mind and doing a cross word. We talked a bit about it and she said that it does make her feel better to know that someone else understands what it's like.
Even at the end of Maria Landon's book, when she's in her 30's, her father comes to her and still doesn't understand why she had to tell anyone about his abuse. He never ever gets it. He cries, but it's for himself, not for her. Something in his brain cannot connect to empathy for others.
Sometimes you see that in little ways with people. Is it just the way they're wired? Probably. My Nanna went on to marry another super dodgy man after that, and how she adored him. I suppose a man who didn't beat you was a bit of a prize back in the day. He was truly creepy and abusive, but I was always nice to him and called him 'grandad' because, you know, I was raised to have good manners.
But you know darlings, we're not here to talk about abuse are we? No no, we're here to talk about the Love.
I switched topics with mum after we'd talked a little bit about child abuse and the apalling stats of child murder in NZ, deciding we'd give ourselves a 'message from the future'. We told ourselves something encouraging from the perspective of a future self. It felt good.
So what does your future self say? Mine was something like 'see, getting yourself all worked up about (insert any number of topics, but usually 'love/men and employment') and you really didn't need to. It all worked out. It always does.'
So I went for a swim in my polka dot bikini, the water was pretty warm and I always feel further returned to Me when I'm in the sea. Mum and I then went to this pub up the road from her, The British Isles, and got a really slap up feed. Mum's lamb shanks were glorious. I do not mean that my mum has lamb shanks. I mean that she ordered them and ate them. We went back to her flat and watched TV, something I rarely do. Had a cuppa tea and about four chocolates and then flew back over the Harbour Bridge in my lovely little car. I slept the sleep of the connected.
It's a sunshine day. Long may they continue! May your pieces be nicely returned to you if any have gone missing, and may a cool breeze stroke your brow, should your brow be exposed to the air.
Connected I slept
Turned and returned whole
A cool quartz stone on my brow
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