Today would have been my mothers birthday.She would be 61.
I say would have because to me its like shes dead but she is not, rather she is very much alive and well I assume.. The last I heard from her she called 6 months after no contact.
6 months after we had reported my father -her husband for sexual abuse against our children-her grandchildren. She called and asked me if I still wanted to be in her Will, and if i wanted any thing of hers. I was shocked, frozen there, phone pressed against me numb ear. I had no response to this, what could I say. I was lost on this one. I wanted to tell her best she use her Will sooner rather than later as I no longer cared.
I responded and told her to give what ever she wanted to to my sister in law, my brothers wife, Amanda. I just did not care about HER or her THINGS.
She then proceeded and said “we should move forward”.
That’s when the anger kicked in for me. She said it like the last 6 months of hell had been a minor bump in the road of life, that we would all just move on now and forget it ever happened.
That was when I started to yell at her through the phone. That’s when I said it all.
I said ” I am angry with you, you did nothing to protect the girls, he abused them for 2 years and you did nothing, you let this happen to them.” She went quiet and then the denial began to flow from her evil lips. She said ” that’s not what the police said. She was referring to the time period my daughter had suffered at her husbands hands, of which the police informed me case details would not be disclosed to any one , even her. She had started down her usual path of manipulation once again, but I was wiser now, stronger now, and a protective mother, I would not be standing for her deception any longer. The truth was the police case did not have a time frame on it any way, they cannot determine that from a 5 year old. The two year period had only come out through their weekly therapy of which our 8 year old Ella had detailed.
It wasn’t the point any more. She was sick enough to start bringing up semantics , she was twisted enough in her mind to argue these points. Her denial had totally consumed her, she could no longer be rational or empathetic. She would protect him now, even though he was dead, even though my father had gone, even though he had committed suicide over this.
No one else mattered to her. I didn’t and nor did her granddaughters. they were merely pawns in her perverse game of life ,where the aim was to protect him at all costs.
At this point I knew this would be the last conversation I would ever have with her. This was what I knew and I was okay with that. I began over time to accept that and acknowledge that she was just as mentally unwell as him. Her state of denial made her toxic to me as her daughter and toxic to my family also and I knew then that she would and could no longer be a part of our lives.
The line was now drawn in the sand. It was dark and it was obvious and it was there before my feet forever.
My anger towards her in the beginning made me physically ill.
The thought of her carrying on with her life, being a teacher still, having a nice house, profiting from his death with his life insurance and selling his assets to make more was enough to make me want to graffiti her house with profanities.
I wanted the community to know the truth, I wanted them to see her lies for what they were. That no he wasn’t depressed and therefore took his life but he had in fact sexually assaulted two of his granddaughters for 2 years, fled from police when his own daughter, their mother reported his crime and then hung himself in bush land.This truth she was hiding, this truth she’d cover until her own death.
Where had that left us, a little family of five. In damage control, in crisis, in debt and in weekly therapy for a year. Our lives changed forever and in pieces while she stepped over her bump in the road and “moved forward”.