It took me a long time to admit I'd had a pretty raw life. My birth mother neglected me severely.
Knowing a fact like that is awful. I even have memories of crying in my crib, hungry, lonely, and tired. My filthy diaper reeking. I'd watch the sun climb the wall. It would start in a low corner and gradually climb to the opposite side.
I LIVED for the sound of the front door; that meant someone was home. They'd love me, feed, me, and change me. Until then, it was just me and the cat.
My parents got the cat for my sister when I was about a year and a half old. I don't think they realized what a friend I had in her.
I'd sob in my crib, hopeless, and lonely, starving and so very lonely. And there she'd be. The cat. She loved to climb in my crib. I'd slobber all over her, "pet" her, and lie down next to her, her purring lulling me to sleep.
When I got too grabby, she'd escape the crib. I remember watching her groom herself, endlessly fascinated by this elegant creature. When my parents split, my Dad made my sister give the cat up for adoption. She did find a loving home but I grieved terribly.
You could make a good argument that the cat was a better mother to me, than my own, human mother.
Which brings me to Scarlet the cat. Scarlett the Cat Scarlett, repeatedly entered a burning building in order to save her kittens. She saved all of them, at a terrible personal cost. She was covered in burns and temporarily blind. But she didn't care, she sniffed them all to make sure they were safe. And then she passed out on the street.
Oh, that story makes me cry. It's making me cry now: because I didn't have that. My own mother was incapable of battling her illness - and I paid the cost. Essentially, she left me in the burning building (for instance, it took me years to catch up to the growth curve).
I may have had a cat for a "mother" - but I could have done a lot worse. And, I always had God. Even then.
2 comments:
Heather, have you ever considered that your father has equal responsibility for your severe neglect as a child? Equal, if not much more responsibility, given that he chose to have children with a severely mentally ill woman who was also an alcohol abuser? You have mentioned that he was a professional, educated person. What was he thinking? It must have been obvious that you weren't thriving or developing on track. Has he ever acknowledged that he is just as accountable for what happened to you as your mother was - if not much MORE accountable? It seems that he gets off pretty lightly here. I think that understanding HIS flaws might be an important part of your recovery. Best wishes.
I'm about to test the length of the reply feature. Short version, it was "safe" for me to be angry at my Dad.
I was always told, your mother is very sick. Implied, you can't be angry at a sick person. It took me a long time to accept how badly she failed me.
My Dad was in major denial (he admits this). He traveled a lot. He got me in daycare as soon as I turned 2 (minimum age). That helped a lot. My sister tried to pick up the slack - but she was a teenager in high school. She actually dropped out of school to take care of us.
That's when the authorities got involved. Instead of traveling, Dad rode a desk from then on. My sister went back to school. I was still in (a good) daycare. I have some happy memories there.
Dad also joined Al-anon and learned some really valuable techniques. A while later, my mother left for the last time. She gave up custody as part of the divorce settlement and remarried. She never had any other kids.
Dad was a great single Dad and did everything he could for me. Sure, I was a fashion disaster, but my adoptive (step) mother has said it just made me appealing. "Look how badly I need a good mommy" kind of thing.
Dad was unsaved during all of this. He got saved when I was 13. After he was almost killed at work (gunman showed up to see his "girlfriend") I had a lot of anger at him. I dumped on Dad for years, as he faithfully paid for my (out of pocket) therapy. I also yelled at him a lot in my early 20's. Eventually I forgave him. I don't want to walk through my life with a big sack of grudges.
He prays for me daily, asking God to guide me, and manage my illness. He's a good guy. When Ron had that horrible blackout last November, and I had to leave, Dad gave me some very good counsel.
Post a Comment