Dredging Up the Past

I was recently given a "homework assignment" by my Oldest Son, who is going to counselling. He wants to deal with his childhood, understand it, confront it and (I hope) find some peace once he has some guidance as he walks through and relives the sequence of events which has led to the present day.

I did not want to go there. I've dredged up the past in order to try to give my son the information he needed to get through a trauma. I don't deny the life we once lived. I pull what I need from those days and bring it into the light when life hands me a reason. But I don't go back and relive it. I don't want to feel the emotion that goes with those stories. I need to stay detached from that world.

I finally faced up to the task yesterday morning. I started writing down what I remembered. Then I started digging through old letters and pulled out my journals. I reread the words I wrote when I was living the moment.

It was a little bit like reading about someone else, though hearing the sound of my voice tell the story took me back to those moments. I didn't sink down and lose myself in them. I simply recalled and remembered from a distance.

I am grateful I wrote myself through those moments. It gave me the opportunity to purge myself of the emotions in the moment. But the act of writing it down brought a different perspective to what was happening, even when it was new and raw. And there is hope that these "written in the thick of the moment" ramblings MAY be of some use to my son as he reads and (hopefully) understands the other side of our story.

One piece of writing is old. It is very old (1994 or 95). I read it and thought of the ripple effect of our past within our family:

If He Could See Us Now

... a man's voice was on the other end of the phone line ... the questions, the voice, the "unknown" triggered an emotion in the young boy's mind. He hung up the phone, deflated. He sighed out loud, "I thought it was my dad." ...

... a young man. Eager, yet terrified to step towards adulthood is tentatively learning about cars in a mechanics class. He feels a betrayal. So many of his classmates know so much more than he does. Their dad had taught them. So many emotions lie beneath the surface. But one seems to rear its ugly head the most ... anger.

... the responsibilities of running a household and family on her own, she wrestles with the trials, triumphs and day-to-day mundane ... alone. Whether it be a moment of devastation or one of jubilation, she longs for a partner to turn to. To share the moment. Another day, like all the rest, is over. Sleep will bring comfort ... dreams of the future.

...somewhere out there is a man. Alone in his own way. Possibly masking it with another drink ... another "toke" ... running ...

Does he know he's not alone in his pain and his grief? Does he know he'll never be able to run away from it? Does he ever wonder about his family and their pain? Or is he too busy masking his own?

Years go by and like the ripples from a pebble tossed into the stillness of a lake, his influence in their life is a constant.

She had tried to run from it too. For a while it seemed to work. She inched towards independence and distance from the life they had lead. A life, that no matter what pain and devastation it wrought, that kept bringing them back to each other ...

The cycle of abuse is seemingly endless. The good times SO good ... the bad times so devastating. It affects everyone ... the ripple in the lake ...

From the outside looking in, it appears so black and white. "They" see the family torn apart ... "they" know the answer. But ... when the family does the "right" thing and separates, does the outside world feel the ripples?

There's a longing inside her. A longing to "solve" the past. To spread the word and help someone learn from her experience. It wasn't good enough to protect her children from a future exposed to the havoc of an abusive relationship. The had already been exposed. The seed already planted. The ripple ...

The anger the young man feels slips out from time to time. An anger that's always under the surface. He can "justify his actions because it's "someone else's" fault ... .. ... Her blood runs cold at his response ... What will trigger his anger next? Who will be wounded as the ripple continues to affect the calmness that surrounds the lake?

Has your life been affected by abusive behaviours? Are you one of its victims? Are you masking the pain in any addictive behaviour? Are you running?

Those who are inflicting the pain of abuse are usually victims too. It's a cycle. it's NOT an heirloom one would choose to pass along to their children. But unwittingly that's what happens.

No matter if you'r a victim or the one inflicting the pain, STOP RUNNING! Remove yourself from the situation. Get help. Find support. Talk. Confront the issue. Get help. FACE the pain. If you don't face it, it will never go away. Don't allow another generation to toss another pebble into yet another peaceful lake.

She wishes he would get help. Get healthy. Get to know his children. She wishes he could acknowledge that he understands she did what she thought was best for everyone. She hopes that what she did wasn't in vain. That future generations will not suffer because she didn't learn sooner the toll it would take on her own children.

She prays the anger the young man feels will be dealt with in a positive way. Before it affects the people who touch his life.

She's sad the young boy never knew his Dad, but yet relieved. The ripple can't touch him. He didn't feel the pain. He felt the loneliness instead.

She longs for the ripple to calm into the stillness of the lake. She's tired of fighting the waves.

The "young man" who was in and around the age of 16 when this was written is presently 39 years old. He's still feeling the ripple effect of a life he was removed from 30 years ago.

The "young boy" is 30 years old. The ripple effect has touched his life and his relationship with his brother, though it may have strengthened the bond he has with his mother...

She is still alone, a little lost at sea at times, riding the waves from a ripple from long ago when necessary but longing to find her way back to shore and stay there.

The man is facing his own mortality. The sequence of events which could follow a dire or terminal diagnosis has the potential to toss yet another pebble into the lake which has not yet stilled.

The ripple effect is seemingly without an end.