The Golden Age of Denial

There is my dream house..a little cabin in the woods in the mountains. At this moment, thanks to George Dubya's economic blunders, among others, we are selling the lovely piece of mountain property we bought for our dream home in order to be able to live out our old age independently. Wish us luck because we are going to need it.

No, onward to important things, like moi, of course. I have decided that I want an old age similar to my Mother-In-Law's. You see, Mom was not the most empathic of mothers and her idea of a major crisis in any one's life was their car not starting. The real stuff was either downplayed or she just wasn't told about it. It wasn't because she was frail, but because she had a hard time understanding and supporting.

So I am withdrawing all empathy, refusing to understand any one's mistakes and getting all sympathetic about flat tires and other minor, "fixable" things. Maybe then, my stomach will get better and my hip will heal and I can live out my golden years in blessed denial. You know why I say that? Because the "Shit Hits The Fan" gremlins decided that every possible family crisis that comes down the pike should hit right at the time of my surgery, or should I call it "that massive insult to my body?" Yeah, right...like I could do that.
My lovely state of denial about certain things was ripped away like the fragile fabric it really is and the actual state of things was shown to me in graphic detail. Lesson learned? No matter how old you get and how far you advance in wisdom and serenity, personally, you have no guarantees that your loved ones will come along with you. I am going to have to watch them stumble, screw up and deal with misunderstanding and my own old tragedies until my ashes are scattered, so it seems. Maybe I can find the answer to Jenny Westbrook's wall of protection. I think she took it with her.

But, again, that's not my style. My style is to rage in the face of the storm until it finally calms down, then firmly believe I caused it to stop. My style is to say what I think when someone I love is in dire straits, whether I should say it or not (and whether it is appreciated or not). It seems I have passed the art of being selectively blind on to my offspring. I have also, somehow, lost their respect. I would have rather been flogged with a bullwhip than to have dismissed, argued with and disrespected my mother or grandmother in such a way.

I seldom got along with my former mother-in-law, but she had some pretty smart things to say. Many of them were cliche' and I tended to dismiss them until I realized she was using them in the right way and with purpose. One of the things she would say about children was, "When they are little they walk on your feet. When they grow up, they walk on your heart." I wish I could thank Mom Henline for that but she wouldn't even know me. She is in a nursing facility with Alzheimer's.

In this picture, I am 15 years old and I know, but am trying to deny that I am very, very pregnant with my firstborn child. I didn't think I could ever be more frightened and hurt than I was when that picture was made. Boy, did I have a lot to learn. I feel like one of those old radio stations where the DJ would proclaim, "WSUX, WHERE THE HITS KEEP COMING!!" What followed that picture is the stuff of bad soap operas. I needed stable boots because I stepped in more shit than Hercules cleaning out the Aegean stables.

 

But it hasn't been all bad. Even if I was able to only raise two of my children (at which, I suspect at times, I fucked up royally), I was able to hold all four of them in my arms and tell them how much MOMMY loved them. And Mommy still loves them and my grandchildren and my great-grandchildren. We are not a perfect family and the adoption reunion thing is a real treat, going from a trip to the carnival to trying to find your way through the woods in a snowstorm. The loss of my two oldest, unfortunately, affected the way I raised my two youngest and a lot of that fear of life, insecurity, low self-esteem and mistrust found its way into their lives.

So, no, I can't do the hiding from real life thing that Mom Westbrook did, but I can understand that I am powerless to fix things for any of my children. I seem to be so eloquent but unable to explain things to my own flesh and blood to get them to understand that I'm on their side even if I don't agree with the choices they have made or the way they see me in their lives.

 

So for my raised children, I say, I know you have loving hearts and integrity. Daughter, you need to take off the blinders and really see things as they are, but you might find that loving includes accepting the weaknesses and foibles of the loved one and putting your foot down for upward mobility. Son, empathy lesson number one..Fuck You, too! I don't deserve it and I don't accept it. And you are giving yourself an ulcer.

 

For my lost, taken children (because losing you both was NEVER, EVER my decision), I wish you could understand that, after decades of guilt and worry and tears and heartache and wondering (and that IS a form of parenting even if I didn't sit by the bedside and bathe your fevered brows which I would have given my right arm to be able to do) I am standing tall and proud as your Mother. No, I do not expect you to deny or disregard your love for your adoptive parents. But I expect to sit right up there with them. I am NOT a second-rate, casual relative to be hidden from the rest of the adoptive family. I will not put loving posts on your timeline (what's the problem with that, anyway??) only to have them deleted. THAT HURTS. I will not be misconstrued, lied to and misinterpreted. I respect myself and I ask that your love for me include respect for my Mother's heart, publicly. With all due respect, if your adoptive parents told you that I should be kept a secret, they were WRONG.

 

My thanks and heart have to go to these beautiful people standing around me in the heat of an August day in San Antonio, Tx. Meet my gift for my old age. My grandson-in-law, the talented and intelligent Chris, me, my BEAUTIFUL and talented granddaughter, Brandy, who sees me simply as "Nanny" and my great-grandchildren (smartest and cutest in the world, by the way) Dejah and Jantzen. That was such a happy day for me. I felt like a grandmother in the best way possible. I watch them climb that ladder in such a determined way, not that they don't slip from time to time, and feel proud for them...not OF them because that would imply that I had something to do with their good work. No, I am proud for them.

 

This is a picture of a family and also, catharsis. I write this with tears streaming down my cheeks and a funny little half smile on my face. I have to also remember that my kids can be funny, intuitive and ingenious in many ways. I know that no family is perfect. But that's what we are...a family. Even the ones who only want a partial membership are SOL because they are in. You cannot share the most intimate moment in a life, passing through your Mother's body to take your first breath, and place that moment as secondary to anything. You are of us and we are of you.

Hey, I took a lot of wrong turns before I learned to stop hurting myself and others on a regular basis. Maybe that epiphany won't be far off for the people I love more than my own life...my children.