A story…
She is standing at the stove when he walks in. “Mom, when’s dinner gonna be ready?”
“Soon, honey. The sauce is ready. Salad’s in the fridge. Garlic bread is in the oven. There’s nothing more for me to do besides cook the pasta. I’m just waiting for the water to come to a boil for the spaghetti. We’ll eat when dad gets home.”
“K. I’m just gonna get my soccer stuff for the game tonight.”
Leaving town is easy. As you take off from the runway, you will breathe deep and relax. You may even splurge on a cocktail for yourself and a couple of pops for the kids. You will count out loud the number of days that will happily pass without the stress of a dad visit.
She will exclaim at the wonder of being surrounded by family members who think she is wonderful. She will not guard against snide comments. She will wear her hair however she chooses. She may not even pack socks. She will smile until her cheeks hurt.
He will laugh louder and not worry about saying the wrong thing. He may not have to accommodate for several days because he will be with people who love him even if he doesn’t spend each moment trying to please them. He will pull pranks and howl at the moon.
You will relax knowing your kids will be respected, enjoyed and nurtured. It’ll be okay if they are loud and a little messy. You won’t have to coach them about what to say and what not to say.
Have you ever stood outside waiting for the 4th of July Fireworks to start while swatting mosquitoes and listening to the bats as they whiz by your head? The first chrysanthemum explodes and your kid says, “Mom, how will I know when it’s the grand finale?”
“You’ll just know.”
I’ve stood there through twenty minutes of ooooos and ahhhhhs saying, “No, honey, that’s not it. Nope, Will, that’s not it either. Jenny, put your hood up so the mosquitoes can’t get to your ears. Nope, not yet, Will.”
“Mom, will I know it when it comes?”
“Yes, honey, there’s no doubt when it’s the grand finale. It’s not like the others.” Continue reading →
My idea of spring cleaning consists of blowing the dust off the stuff on the high shelf just enough to release the cobwebs that are anchored there. When a quick puff didn’t take care of things, I reached up to pull this jar down. It’s been on my bathroom shelf since we moved to this home.
I wiped off six years of dust and handed the jar to Jenny. As she took the rocks out, one by one, she commented on their smoothness and wondered where I’d found them.
“Your dad and I used to fly fish before Will was born. I was always on the lookout for rocks when I wasn’t casting the line.”
“How come you hardly ever fish anymore?”
“Well, things change when you have babies. Someone needs to tend to the baby and that leaves the other person free to fish. I was tending to babies, your dad did the fishing. I guess I got wrapped up with kids and forgot I liked to fish.” Continue reading →
“Mom, how old do I have to be again before I don’t have to visit dad anymore? I have already made my decision that I want to live with you.”
“You do live with me, honey.”
“I know, but I mean all the time. Every spring break and winter holiday and summer vacation.”
“But then you won’t see your dad.”
“Yes, but we have the memories…”
It doesn’t matter how much I reinforce that it is important to have a relationship with his dad. Nor does it matter that he doesn’t complain too much out loud. These conversations reinforce what I already know.
He is struggling inside.
Oh, how I know about that!
I know what it’s like when it’s all confused and churning inside, but on the outside it doesn’t appear that anything is wrong. To think that I have to wait a couple more years before he has a voice for himself makes my insides knotty.
I wonder to myself, why wait? But I know the system. I know it has to come at a time when it is right and unfortunately, something has to happen on the outside for them to listen. You can’t use history because they believe it will be different this time and as long as the stage lights are on, it may be.
But inside it won’t be.
He shut off the blender and yelled from the kitchen, “Mom, do you think it’d work to put some of those leftover brownie crumbs in my milkshake?”
“Sure. Try it. It’d be like a Blizzard.”
The blender starts whirring.
I look at Jenny and say, “Honey, I know that when we first talked about emailing your dad, we agreed that it wouldn’t make a difference. But it’s been a week now, and I know it’s still bugging you. Have you changed your mind? Do you want me to let him know how you are feeling?”
She looked up from the sewing machine and pushed the shimmery purply-blue fabric to the side to keep from sewing the end of the tail closed. “I don’t think I wanna make it so I can walk in it. Mermaids don’t walk anyway.” Continue reading →
I was stirring the fettuccine as the door closed behind him. I looked over and noticed she didn’t look up. She didn’t speak. She kept her head down as she focused on her project.
Dinner was almost ready to hit the table. I turned to Will and said, “Buddy, dinner is close, but I’ve gotta talk to Jenny first.”
So what if the pasta was going to be mushy.
I pulled my stool next to Jenny and quietly asked her to look at me. When she did I said, “Honey, I want you to know that I remember how that feels. I know what it’s like to be in a room with my dad, have him talk to my brother, and leave before saying a word to me. I know how that hurts, but I don’t want to project my feelings on to you.”
“What does project mean?” Continue reading →
How do we forgive our fathers, maybe in a dream?
Do we forgive our fathers for leaving us too often, or forever, when we were little?
Maybe for scaring us with unexpected rage, or making us nervous, because there never seemed to be any rage there at all.
Do we forgive our fathers for marrying, or not marrying our mothers, for divorcing, or not divorcing our mothers?
And shall we forgive them for their excesses of warmth or coldness?
Shall we forgive them for pushing or leaning, for shutting doors, for speaking through walls, or never speaking, or never being silent?
Do we forgive our fathers in our age or in theirs? Or in their deaths, saying it to them, or not saying it?
If we forgive our fathers what is left?
– Thomas Builds-the-Fire
She wanted to switch on the light, but she didn’t dare wake him. On those sleepless nights, if the moon wasn’t too bright, she could see stars through the skylights above their bed. Maybe one day, when she was free to pursue her own interests, she’d learn the constellations – Cassiopeia, Orion and the others. The names made her think of possibility.
Possibility was what she needed to believe in right now.
Was it possible to feel good again?
Was it possible to create a healthier life – better than this life full of fears and disappointments and anger?
She gently turned back the covers and stepped out of bed. She had tiptoed down the stairs enough times in the dark to feel her way down without bumping into anything. Once downstairs, she could turn on a light, slide out the drawer in the office desk, and reach into the back for a small, innocent-looking spiral notepad. The pages were worn. The pad was almost full. She had turned down corners on pages that held the notes that touched her most deeply. Continue reading →
A few more boxes to pack and load into the car and she’d be done.
She thumbed through magazine clippings that had been filed in an office drawer. Some clippings dated back to her college years – that dreamy phase of, “When I grow up and marry, I hope my kitchen has …..”
There were clippings of herb gardens, bathroom paint colors in sage and mint, examples of open shelves instead of upper cabinets for the ideal kitchen, and nursery ideas.
__________
Her girlfriends thought she was crazy for not wanting upper kitchen cabinets. She loved how open shelving prevented her from collecting junk. Continue reading →
The thing is, most of the time I know when to stay away.
When she says, “Ewwww! Mom, remember that experiment where we made the smoothie for Twilite? You know the blueberries, grass and banana drink? It’s still in the fridge! Come smell it!”
Yeah.
No.
I know to stay away. Continue reading →
In Survivor Support, I will call your attention to a new commenter who reaches out to us for encouragement or guidance or a compassionate ear.
We have created a most healthy group of wise individuals who send positive ripples out whenever needed.
It’s time to send more ripples.
Survivors and Thrivers, please see Kristin’s comment on this post.
Thanks,
Jesse
Dear Narcissist,
We resign as caretakers.
We will no longer protect you, make excuses for your behavior or come to your defense. We will not sweep your abuses under the rug. We will not pretend like your treatment is acceptable.
We will not allow you to manipulate us or control us.
You will not hurt us again.
We will not feel sorry for you.
I will not coach your children on what to say to you in order to keep the peace. I will point out your behaviors to make sure that the children understand that they are not to be blamed for your mistreatment.
We will not cater to you, tiptoe around you or deal with your mood swings.
We will not allow you to make us feel inferior.
We are good enough.
We will no longer see ourselves through your eyes.
We will no longer see ourselves through your eyes.
Signed,
Jesse, Will and Jenny
*Survivors,
You may be thinking that by now we would have successfully moved on. Just yesterday I heard myself coaching Will on what not to say to his father over the phone. After almost seven years, I still fall into the trap of protecting the narcissist.
“Well,” the Goddess said,*Maybe if we looked at it this way,
a broken heart wouldn’t seem insurmountable.
She was too exhausted to untie the bundle. He stood next to her and excitedly pulled at the bow that was wrapped tightly around the four corners of the blanket. His hands were shaking. He fumbled a bit, but the blanket fell open to reveal the most precious gift. He gently placed the baby in her arms. They didn’t notice the green organza bag that fell out of the blanket to the floor.
They cooed at the baby while the nurse placed the green bag inside an overnight bag.
__________
A couple days later a tired, happy, new mom unpacked the overnight bag. Inside she found the shiny green bag. Was it a gift from the hospital? In her exhaustion, had she forgotten who’d brought her this unusual gift? She opened the bag to find seven brightly colored pieces from a jigsaw puzzle. Surely there was a puzzle somewhere that was missing important pieces. Who could this belong to?
She was too tired to sort out the mystery, so she placed the green bag on the shelf above the changing table. Continue reading →
