To or From

I am continuing my exercises of, "Am I running to something or away from something?"

It was ownership drama which triggered my current flight urge. For me, it is not a shock. Owners do that, allot. Turf wars are the name of the ownership logic, aren't they. I think. In truth, the greatest gift of my traumatic childhood is my well-tested ability to walk away from out-of-control chaos, butt-naked, and survive with an appreciation for some small beauty from the natural world. An herb despised by weed warriors is enough. Kinship, even. The responsibilities of ownership wouldn't have allowed for such a walking away.

I am not the owner here. By law, I could force the issue, but I won't. The lawyer games are not even interesting to me. Each and every time hubs has money whipped me, I have walked away with nothing. Well. . . I was always dressed when I left, but leave I did and will again. King Midas in his counting house is not a burden I wish to carry. Count on, good buddy. May your gold love you as much as you love it. I like counting, too. Counting my footsteps as I walk away, unencumbered.

Grieving is a mysterious process. It goes where it goes. Follow where it leads, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts? I still haven't found sincere grief for the MIL/FIL. All I lost is two people who loved me in front of strangers while continually ambushing me in the hallways to let me know . . . Don't much care to find a simple summary for those wordy ambushes. Each to their own simplicity and my simplicity is that they were emotional trauma from which I have acquired new healing needs. My own birthrights did not include enough family stability to understand the stable family simplicities. Life is as life is, not as we would have it.

Hubby is grieving his parents from a place I have never stood and I have supported him by addressing his symptoms as they arise rather than from claims of deep, intimate understanding. In personal simplicity, I donae believe it is possible to know the insides of another person's skin, not even when a penis penetrates a vagina. It is still skin ON skin rather than inside skin. Both genitals remain on the surfaces of the other. They separate quite naturally after the biological function is done. As I have attempted to be supportive of hubs during this long ordeal, I havenae been able to share it in my heart. Losing folks who prejudged you before you met as full adults isnae even close to losing the foundation of your life.

In the long defunct psych theories of "Therapy Funerals" (70's) by which I symbolized my acceptance of my birth family's inability to help me heal, great respect was given to the emotional need to grieve the tradgedy of that *simple* fact. Hubs hasnae even met many of the people involved in that grieving. He has never sat in any of the living rooms or visited any of the farms where my family interacted. Not even I know where any of them are. Those farms were investment properties. They are probably buried under international investment developments now. The were only owned. They were not loved. When my grief arises, he can only respond from his own experience. My mother becomes his mother with emotionally charged clarity. A mom is a mom is a mom is a mom. The graphics in my head from the merging of the two women are worthy of a comedy skit. Perhaps one day I will heal far enough to find the humor.

When the 10% of my siblings (10% of 10 siblings) I am still in touch with called me with the news of Big Brother's death, my first reaction was disgust with the inconvenient timing. His death wish never seemed to let up since the suicide attempt which resulted from that day where he and I left the kiddie whorehouse together in search of help. I got help. He got profiled. What becomes of male rape victims is a nasty promise for a 15 year old kid to live with. Watching its effects on the gentle Big Brother I had defended so many times with my warrior passion still feels like an unresolved injustice. Watching that victim blaming escalate to his "Proper" place on the sexual profiling boards has not felt like progress to me. Most beloved sis and I are happy his suffering is finally over. Alas, humans are not single response critters. Hence the need for a grieving process rather than a Stock Exchange.

Hubs only met Big Brother far enough to see the wisdom of his parental disapproval. He chased him from our home like a good protector should. The one shared experience we have of BB is. . . Not simple. The views are very much from opposite sides of the economic divide and greatly obscured by my continued unwillingness to carry the family I gave birth to into the still going dysfunction of the family which gave birth to me.

If my ifs are in alignment, the owner settlements I have witnessed from afar only get bloodier for every position added to the fire. Less is better. My opinions arenae any more valid than the other opinions in the family. I can help best by staying out of it.

I need to go grieve my brother and havenae the confidence that the family I gave birth to can help. They donae share the bond, nor do I want them to. May you never know the joys of life in a kiddie whorehouse, my beloved husband and sons. I sincerely believe my river cravings are running to a deeply needed healing mojo which has served me well for my entire life. Many rivers run through ^it^. Nothing soothes my wounded soul like the flow of a navigable river.