Saturday … This Is Home
Can you ever not feel heartbreak?
It is never a dull moment in my life. The past twenty four hours, has been a whirlwind of discussions, feelings and heart breaking truths.
You all know the story. I have been writing it for ages now. When I moved to Canada my mother’s last words to me were “If your father or I get sick and die, nobody will call you.”
Then she hung up on me… That was fourteen years ago.
I had not spoken to either of my biologicals since.
I got sober, and grew up, and now I am here today. However, there is unfinished buisiness, when it comes to step work and clearing the wreckage of my past. There has always been an uncertainty that has existed.
Unfinished business so to speak.
With the passing of my cousin Carol yesterday, I made an adult decision to call my mother this afternoon, and speak to her. That was a really bad decision.
She did not know who I was.
Nor was she interested in anything I had to say to her, and she said that nothing that I had to say mattered, and that none of them, wanted anything to do with me any more.
She went on to say that from the day that I was born, until the day I walked out of that house, what I did to her, as a child, was ten lifetimes worth of pain that is unforgivable. So she blames me, (read:my childhood) for all of her problems.
I asked her about that childhood, and said that my alcoholic, vicious, abusive father who wanted me dead at any cost, that was all bullshit ??? I asked her if my life experience was real, she said no. She said that I was just delusional. That all the abuse and negative shit was all in my head and never happened.
My brother, as I was told, wants nothing to do with me either, once again, because of our childhoods and what I did to him.
I was the first born child, I had three years on him. Three years of love and affection from family that desired that I survive. My father always said, for the whole of my life that I was a mistake and should never have been born.
When my brother came along, he was the son my father wanted.
He bred that child to be my opposite. To always fight me and to never agree with or support me whatsoever. I own the adult decisions I made in his regard. And I said to my mother that I wanted to speak to him to explain the specifics, but once again, she said he didn’t care and did not want to know.
So fuck me.
She also offered a few choice family secrets, truths she probably thought, would taint my visual and feelings towards my aunt. A very long time ago, a secret was floated in front of me. A secret that I had no information on, and did not who to ask it about, or figure out.
And like all secrets, eventually they come out into the open.
Now I know the secret. Does it change anything? No.
My mother lives in a world that is delusional. That what I think, and what I experienced was not real and never happened.
She attempted to paint her sister into a corner accusing her of family heresy and accused her of theft and betrayal. All lies.
When I pressed her to extend the conversation, she abruptly said that she did not care about me and that she had to go.
Then she hung up on me …
Cue dialtone …
I called my sponsor right away. I was in shock. I was heartbroken. I thought at least she would come to the table and want to know, but she didn’t. She doesn’t care, neither do my father nor my brother.
This evening, I spoke to my aunt. And while I was sitting in the meeting this evening, my cousin called from B.C.
I got up and left the meeting and ended up talking to her for more than an hour.
Tonight, I know many things about truth and family. Tonight I know that we, as a family, have a special gift, of second sight. And I learned a great deal about one of my uncles, who lives here in Quebec. Something I never knew, but it makes perfect sense, why we, the children of our generation, are so gifted.
In the end, my life does not matter to those who it should matter. I can go to bed tonight, and sleep with a clear conscience. There are some people who just aren’t supposed to be in our lives for specific reasons. I know tonight, that those three human beings will have to answer to God in the end and not me.
This is entirely Not about Me.
My cousin tonight confirmed a great deal of truth for me. And for that I am grateful.
Does it pay to be idealistic and have a belief that inside every human being is a shard of redeemability? No.
I was not offered forgiveness nor redemption.
I was offered revulsion and scorn and bitter vindictive spite.
I am told by a friend that I need to pray for them, and I agree. They need my prayers more than I need my own prayers, because between God and myself I am good.
But for them, there is not much hope for redemption and forgiveness.
But I am not God.
And God always forgives, He never tires of forgiving. So says Pope Francis.
I don’t understand how human beings can be so vindictive and hateful.
It seems, you can never go home again. At least for me.
When I spoke to my cousin about Home, she corrected me firmly with the fact that I am HOME. Montreal is Home. And that is where I need to be.
They don’t care, That is not home. And I don’t need them in my life any longer.
Of that I am God damned fucking sure…