Processing XI
Mommy is heavy on my mind this morning. In relation to me, that would be The DIL. For the little ones who have coopted my golden years, that is Mommy. In imitation of her crazy grandmother's dominant tic, Big Sis has been singing a ditty wrapped around, "Where did my Mommy go?" for quite some time now. It has evolved into a colorful call and answer song between us with verses ranging from snippets of the harsh realities of mentally ill parents to whimsical cows jumping over the moon chased by uncles on unicorns.
Since the MIL/DIL blowout in 2014, I have been haunted by the sense that my son married my mother. I have worked pretty hard at keeping that sense in my PTSD therapy camps, butttttttaaaaaa. . . The sense doesnae seem to be going away. It is popping out of my mouth with escalating frequency. In the psychoweirds of burying my son is an etherreal sense that The DIL has met up with my mother and they are offering encouragement to merge their life threads. Should I open my carnival gypsy tent now? It remains one of my most frequently suggested career options. The creases and silver streaks of age only enhance the marketability. "I see you giving me access to all your accounts, my naive moron. Baby needs new shoes."
The haunting began with the toddler GS --still an only child-- crying at a closed bedroom door for a Mommy languishing in the psychotic depths of clinical depression. The flashbacks which accompanied the trigger were horrific. They still are, but their power seems to be diminishing. Hope healing happens here. Works in progress. . . Stepping small, praying big and holding the love sacred.
"GO PLACIDLY amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story." ~Max Ehrmann
Easier said than done, Maxi, but giving ^it^ the ol' college try. . .
The 6 year old GS had a rough day in school yesterday. Big Sis was equally erratic here on the farm. I believe we are holding steady, but the waters remain too choppy for sustainable confidence. Ouchy yeowchy the world is grouchy.
In yesterday's singsong with Big Sis, the billowy clouds over our heads became Falkor, the Luck Dragon. Say Hi to your Mommy and Daddy, Princess.
Replies
My sun is barely rising here and my thoughts are with you.
I have only the experience of becoming Aunt to Auntie to a boy of 5 whose mother passed during childbirth suddenly with her newest husband (also my cousin). My brother took custody immediately at the service and for a few years we (my older sister and I ) became the caretakers much more often than the usual every other week visitation babysitting. The brother was still in the learning stage of being a father/Dad? over the young wanna be playboy/biker dude. He finally mastered "Dad" after the next marriage and 3 more children. The boy is now a man and the memories of his mother are still not talked openly as maybe they should. That pattern was set for him by circumstances of the loss of custody in divorce and the identity of the surrogate dad and the 2 other boys who were in heart his brothers, though by blood second cousins.
Then later the loss of my youngest brother at 35 and his 2 children, but they knew of me much more frequently. I share freely with them memories and quirks I see in them that are definitely my brother's as they come up. The two children were 8 and 11 when their dad left. In the first years they took his loss very differently, the youngest son could not hear anything about Sam with out a panic taking over. While the older daughter wanted to hear as often as possible the antics of her father that only Aunties could tell. Both carry his tweak of the eyebrow when they are hit with mischievous moods. My brother is there in them in those moments.
Losing a parent is so very hard on all involved especially in the younger child's thinking, The longer the attachment and the quality of attachment have their own influence on the grief. But to grieve and be parenting the offspring with grace and love has to be harder than any of us could understand unless we find ourselves in those shoes.
Losing both, that include one as your own child...my heart. Raising the two that surely carry the connection in mannerisms... my heart, any strength and prayers.
You are on my mind a lot even if I am not here.
Hugs my friend and my sort of prayers for your strength through this time.
Burying a son is no Disney World park walk, either, Jewells. Ouch on high. . . It has been a tough morning. One of the caseworkers in the CPS yaddahs took the initiative of scheduling back-to-back counseling sessions for both older siblings this afternoon. Thank you, my healing warrior. Hubs and I are making plans to make it a family outing.
Don't laugh too loud at my P-wording, you Gnarly Old Dickhead. I plan on praying my way through the planning efforts. Hope I'm not taking Your Name in vain.
Prayers both needed and appreciated. I might have broken Saint Monica's legendary record by now. Who do I petition to change the name of Santa Monica to Santa Arfie?
I'm not sure who that petition is filed with but I would be more than honored to present it and bite whomever you choose if it is denied.
Since "Monica"'s story suffering originated on another continent, I agree you should have the name on this one.
Support. J.
The number one cause of war is poor folk being willing to fight rich folkses battles for them. I know I'd have allot more fights if other folks would take the bloody noses for me. ~Woody Guthrie
I'm not sure your teeth are strong enough to bite all the asses I'd love to chew today. Alas, with the absence of lower teeth, I have to find more creative ways to bite asses when I don't have backup. I'm kinda glad I don't have access to any missile silos today.
A large piece of plywood and a bunch of paint filled balloons come to mind. The fling and flang out the energy in a way that would make Jackson Pollack's jaw drop.
Duty calls and I am the shopper again today.
I'll stop back later to check out the plying.
Big hug for you Arfie…… Judy Collins said "through pain and suffering the God of surprises has given us a powerful, poignant way to change and grow'
Sadly that was also about the loss of her son..... You and your family remain in my prayers sweetie
I'm so sorry for all of your pain and loss also Jewells.... Big hug...….xo
Yeah, I remember how those words were put to music, arfie: ""GO PLACIDLY amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story." ~Max Ehrmann"
This video version of the song, "Desiderata," starts with those words.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PNq_DTmVCWs
Easier said that done for sure, as you say, but I'm glad to hear that you're trying. Trying with you, prayers ongoing.
Arfie, to repeat myself, all are in flux, and the aftershocks are happening. You will all make it through this upheaval. So many memories coming up for you and the others. So many unknowns about the future. The Desiderata is one of my top five. The full version of the Serenity Prayer, also written by a mother who had lost her son, stands beside it. We can only take each day as it comes, and you have been doing that beautifully. Stay strong, Leader of the Warriors. We can not walk this for you, but we can walk alongside you. So wish I had a huge supply of bandages for the emotional bruises and hurts. Prayers for all continuing.
The child psychologist meet-up added some yummy harmonies to the syncopation. Both children were so enchanted with the man that neither wanted to leave and were outraged that they have to wait a whole week to see him again. His office put me in mind of Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium. Seems like he could spare a few of those toys for the waiting room. . . At least the couch was comfy.
Thanks again for all the support and prayers. Healing takes what it takes.
I cant imagine the rollercoaster of emotions you are on as the caretaker of the children and as the mother grieving her child. Keeping you all in my prayers.