I'm a 57-year-old wife and mother of four children. I became a grandma "Monger" for the first time last year. I'm a sister, sister-in-law, and aunt. I'm a friend. I'm an educator. I'm an advocate.
These descriptions encompass who I am.
Yet, there is a descriptive phrase I have yet to embrace.
Trauma survivor.
It hasn't always been there--the trauma. I can pinpoint exactly when it became a central component of who I am. I was 36 and I watched my mom battle pancreatic cancer. I helped care for her during weeks of hospice.
21 years ago she passed away and my world turned upside down. Giving her eulogy I referenced how my life had been clearly divided from "before" to "after." There was no way my life would ever be the same with the loss of this one person. A deep cavernous void formed as her hand slipped away from mine.
When a traumatic event happens, most of us don't immediately recognize it. Obviously, you know something monumental has occurred but labeling it may not happen for some time.
For me, it happened this year. Yep, 21 years after. Of course, there is always more to the story, isn't there?
This is my story.
When my mom died, within a few hours of her passing and after the funeral home had left my parent's house, my dad sent my brother and me home. We had disassembled the bed and physically moved my parent's entire bedroom set into the garage. Just like that. Any sign of my mom in the bedroom was gone and hospice was over so it was time to leave. I don't know what the protocol is for mourning and how this is supposed to look. But I do know this didn't feel right at the time. I should have paid more attention to the nagging feeling in my gut. I wasn't acknowledging what I needed in the moments after her death. My mourning was being shaped by someone else and I had no ownership of what I was feeling.
I wish I could say I remember the rest clearly. But, I honestly don't. The memorial preparation and private burial were a blur. It seemed hurried and rushed. Bury my mom so we could get on with our lives.
Within a month, my dad was away on a weekend trip with my mom's hospice nurse. Yep, you read that correctly. My mom's hospice nurse was now romantically involved with my dad.
Our daughter was a contestant in the Little Miss South Jacksonville Pageant that summer in 2002 and we had asked my dad to come but he told us he couldn't because he was away. This is the first I had heard of an emotional entanglement.
And so began the second, and equally impactful, layer of my trauma.
Let me clarify, the second layer of my trauma had nothing to do with my dad's choice of a girlfriend. He needed to make his own decisions about how to shape his life. His spouse was not coming back and I only wanted his happiness. Rather, the second layer of my trauma was because of the abandonment which followed as the result of his choice to move on.
As hard as it is to admit, my dad chose to abandon me, my husband, and our four children--his grandchildren--within the course of the next year.
I never talked in detail about this at the time it happened because I assumed we would eventually get together and discuss our differences but we never did. I grew up in a household where we were encouraged to discuss and communicate to solve or resolve issues. This time was different. My dad told me there would be no discussion. He gave me an ultimatum and when I didn't comply contact ended. He systematically erased all six of us from his life as if we had never been there at all.
I told you at the beginning of this blog that I am a mom to four children. I can't imagine making a conscious decision to walk away from them. It's unfathomable. I am also a Monger. My grandson is so ingrained in our family that, again, abandoning him would never be an option. Neither of these scenarios is within the realm of possibilities.
I used to think my dad and I were alike in many ways---I suppose actually we are to some degree---but we have one fundamental difference. I am not someone who would leave behind my children and grandchildren and make them feel as if they were not worthy of my love because they didn't conform to my vision of our life.
It's taken me decades to admit this to myself. I didn't do anything wrong. I simply questioned some of my dad's decisions following my mom's death and he didn't like it. My husband tried to talk to my dad, too, and with no success. If you know my husband, you know he is level-headed and keeps me grounded. When I react with emotion, he is more pragmatic and objective. Neither of us could reason with my dad.
He wrote us all off in one day and never looked back. He lumped his four grandchildren into the same category as my husband and me. We were all defying him and, therefore, he was done. Even though we offered to keep our feelings separate so he could continue as Papa to our kids, he said no. It was his choice and his choice alone.
Time passed.
One decade.
Another decade.
If you think of your own life you know how many holidays and life events occur in this amount of time.
Our kids remember my mom and we talk about her often. We keep her alive in traditions and memories. She is still a tremendously positive influence on them. They love her deeply.
My dad--well, it's as if he died when she did with none of the love and warmth remaining. He simply left and never came back. He's a stranger who doesn't evoke anything positive in any of us. He is someone we used to know.
What does a child do with that?
Not only me as an adult child but the small grandchildren who were also left. How do you compartmentalize these feelings of trauma and abandonment?
Trauma is generational. Our family is living proof.
I've had people who knew my dad ask if I ever reached out and tried to talk to him. Our kids have had people ask them the same. For me, I realized my life wouldn't be better with him in it so our relationship effectively ended when he abandoned me. For our kids, they were children. It wasn't up to them to ask their Papa why he left them. Shame on any adult who asks my kids that--even now. They don't need to be the 'bigger person' and reach out. They were here the entire time. He knew where to find them. He knew where to find all of us.
My kids are adults now and are starting to ask more questions about me and how I dealt--or didn't deal--with what happened. They're wanting me to face the feelings I have long ignored. Writing this blog is a cathartic way for me to begin to release what has been bottled up and hidden.
I was made to feel like the black sheep because I questioned my dad. Years after my own abandonment, my dad also abandoned my brother, my sister-in-law, and my niece and nephew. My brother has a much different personality than I do but when he finally spoke up my dad's response was, "You're just like your sister."
Checkmate.
Perhaps healing began when my brother told me what had been said. I have always felt I was the defective family member--that I had caused the abandonment to occur.
It wasn't me.
It was my dad.
He has walked away from his two children, our spouses, and six grandchildren. His life with my mom and with us has ceased to exist.
I don't write this for sympathy or for advice. I definitely don't want anyone's advice because my journey is for me alone. I don't write this so my dad sees it and we have some glorious reunion. I know I don't want him in my life. As I said before, he died when my mom did.
I write this for healing.
Facing the fact my trauma from the abandonment of my dad has trickled down to the next generation--to my kids--is unbelievably hard. I thought not discussing it and moving on was the way to handle it. I know now that not talking about what I was feeling caused more trauma for the four of them. For this, I will be eternally pained and truly sorrowful.
I can only move on from here with the knowledge it's ok to admit you have been traumatized. It doesn't make me less of a person it makes me human. I don't have to be the strongest person in the room. I'm allowed to hurt, to cry, to feel.
I'm also allowed to tell my story without fear of judgment. No one knew my dad like I did. We had our own relationship and my feelings about it are valid and true. I don't know why I have felt sharing this would tarnish his reputation in the community because he was a respected educator. I would never want to take away his accomplishments and the many relationships he built in this town. So many people were fortunate to get the side of my dad they will fondly remember. He deserves to be respected for what he did--professionally. His personal life, however, was vastly different and the version of my dad I knew would be unrecognizable to the Mr. B. the public knew.
Is there a correct way to take on trauma?
I obviously don't have the answer to that one. But perhaps the first step is acknowledging you've experienced it. So here I go...
For my husband, my kids, and for my grandson, I will work to heal.
For my brother, my sister-in-law, and my niece and nephew, I will work to heal.
For me, I will work to heal.
I'm a 57-year-old wife and mother of four children. I became a grandma "Monger" for the first time last year. I'm a sister, sister-in-law, and aunt. I'm a friend. I'm an educator. I'm an advocate.
These descriptions encompass who I am.
Finally, I'm officially and publicly adding one more descriptor.
I am a trauma survivor.
It is what it is.
p
