I would say that my mom never has shown much ability to remember. Considering the sheer, mind-boggling number of drugs and treatments she's been subjected to since 1960, I have generally given her a pass on that. My own memory has bits I wish I could lose, bits I wish I hadn't lost, and quirks that annoy me mightily.
But some things seem to me to be just too big to lose. When I was five months old, mom says she left me with dad and took a little trip--one time she said for a week, another time she said it was no more than three days. For a nursing mother to take even three days off seems a bit odd to me, but not impossible to believe.
The problem comes when I compare to dad's side of the story. He came home from work to find his infant daughter home alone, obviously untended for several hours, and no sign of his wife. He called friends, neighbors, her parents (more on that later) and the police. Nobody knew where she'd gone, when she'd left, or why. Considering some of the other stunts mom has pulled, I have little trouble believing this.
Somewhere about a week after she disappeared, dad found out that she had gone home to her parents, but they wouldn't return his calls. He got help from the neighbors to take care of me, kept working, and played the waiting game. Nine months later, out of the blue, her parents brought her back, and left without a word.
I just have to wonder. How do you forget your nearly-new baby for nine months? To say nothing of a husband. Did none of her friends ask? If her parents thought dad was so bad that he wasn't worth talking to on the phone, why did they leave me with him? Or if they thought dad and I were so bad for mom, why did they bring her back?
Needless to say, I don't remember any of that. I barely have any memories at all before I was four years old. Which just happens to be when my brother was born, and mom spent over a year, total, in something like four different hospitals, split among maybe a half-dozen or more separate visits. That time makes perfect sense to me. The medical and mental health care of the mid-70's was still trying to figure out what was wrong with her, and what treatment(s) might help her, and that took time. But in 1971 she did not go to any hospital, and there's no indication that she saw any doctors.
The trap, here, is that there probably isn't any way to understand, because over the years we have figured out pretty conclusively that her brain chemistry is just not right. So we can't expect her to be normal. I'm not sure which diagnosis was being used then--I've been told that in 1960, she was deemed to be Paranoid Schizophrenic. Some time later, (perhaps in the 70's) they decided she was Manic/Depressive. These days they call it Bipolar disorder. She doesn't follow the herd there, either, since there is no evidence that she has ever had a depressive event. Ever. Apparently depression is very common, mania less so, and manic-only bipolar people are quite rare, like maybe 5% of people with bipolar disorder. Having a rare diagnosis is emphatically not a good thing. Because almost nobody knows how to help.
One of the things I'd like to do, and part of the mindset behind starting this blog, is to see if it's possible that any of those neighbors remember. In our mobile society, I doubt that many, or even any of them might remain there. 1971 was a long time ago, after all. Is it important? Probably not. Do I disbelieve my dad? Absolutely not. But since it's a he said/she said situation, I'd like one more "said" just because I want to know. Or maybe I'm just... too stubborn, and I want to prove that mom forgot. But I wonder--what did it look like to the neighbors? Did they notice? (Some of them knew at least some of the details, because some of those kindly neighbor ladies babysat little me.) There's been a lot of turnover in our old neighborhood. It's not like we stayed, after all. We left when I was about 18 months old. But as of about the middle of 2014, the house my parents built, and the neighborhood it stood in were still standing. (But the house has been painted. No more Forest Green with Orange Trim. (Nobody said dad had popular taste in colors.) It blends with its neighbors much better, now. I've driven by, and seen it.)
The grands are gone. They will answer no questions from beyond the grave, even if they would, since they were remarkably tight-lipped before. I've been given the impression that the aunts weren't aware of the events as they were happening--whether they were out of state, or weren't read into the full details, or some other unknown detail, I'm simply not certain. And as mentioned above, communication was not happening with my dad, so he wasn't even able to find out at the time who knew what was going on.
This is one of those things I wish I could have skipped.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
But sometimes it's Really Bad.
Three years ago, mom decided that tickling was some nebulous sort of sexual torture, and my husband and I are child abusers because we refuse to abstain 100%. She also tarred one nephew with that particular broad brush. (Seriously--watch some TV, read a novel or magazine, and talk to... I don't know, a dozen random people. Count how many times tickling is referenced as ordinary and harmless.)
Last year, she decided that my niece, her granddaughter, was seducing any man in sight. That girl's own somewhat tragic history makes this claim illogical at best. (Even that is probably saying too much--it's her story to tell or not as she sees fit. But anyone who knows her ought to realize this claim was ludicrous. One advantage that year was that there is a three hour drive between niece and grandma.)
This spring, she began by saying that requiring my children to help with housework (cleaning their own rooms and washing dishes, primarily) was going to drive them to run away or commit suicide. I caved in to blackmail and took eldest to see a therapist, who proclaimed us a normal family, including the arguments and the pre-teen drama.
So mom upped the ante. Now we're abusive because we own guns (both girls have said they want to go hunting this deer season, and they also like to fish, but I digress) and sometimes use spanking as a punishment. When SRS and the local Sheriff's department closed that investigation, she upped her game again.
Now, since eldest doesn't want to sit down and have a long, detailed conversation with her grammy about her private parts, she must therefore be suffering molestation by her father. As evidence, mom said that hubby's brother expressed that there is a family history of incest. (Brother-in-law in question has, in my hearing, told the following "joke:" Vice is nice, but incest is best! And while it may be off-color, politically incorrect, and offensive to some sensibilities, I do not believe for one minute that it the statement she claims it to be.) Mom has tried to trick me into taking the girls to the local emergency department for a pelvic exam to prove her point. My girls are nearly-nine and just-turned-twelve years old. I believe that is too young for such an invasive and inherently embarrassing, if not truly humiliating inspection. Especially since the "evidence" has been invented in the mind of a madwoman. (When eldest reached menarche earlier this year, I asked her doctor if I needed to schedule a visit. He said not for a few more years yet, unless she develops problems. But he did recommend the Gardasil vaccination. Which reminds me, I need to set that up. Eldest won't be happy with me--she hates shots.) Mom insists that since I don't agree with her, my husband must "have something on me" to stop me from speaking up. That's the most charitable thing she's said about me, since this all blew up with her initial abusive call on Mother's Day morning. I'm also, apparently, a lazy slob, a screamer, and a horrible mother. I'll claim the slob--I dislike housework with a burning passion. But while I may put it off, I generally get it done eventually, and hubby does more than his share. I'll have to accept the screamer designation--I'm battling severe pain in my feet, and walking is agony. So I'm more likely to call them to me to tell them something, rather that walking all over the house looking for them. Also, when my preteen screams at me, I'm not perfect, sometimes I scream back.
Mom has announced that she's moving away. (it helps to "hear" that with the tone of a three-year-old stomping off in a tantrum-induced huff.) She claims that she moved to this town to be near family (that's another story, I'll try to get to it later) and since now none of her family is speaking to her, she's going to go live near her friend at the other end of the state. That this leaves all her local friends behind doesn't seem to matter. The fact that she's the reason I'm not speaking to her (I can't see how getting verbal pins stuck into me at every conversation is supposed to be pleasant) doesn't register. One of her sisters isn't speaking to any of us, because she has been mad at us for over a year--she's bipolar, too, but in denial about it. And the peacemaker sister has a full time job with a local school (she's a nurse and counselor) as well as a part time job as a landlord, AND has her own husband, kids, and grandkids to give her time to. She doesn't deserve the stress, either.
When I'm being a caring daughter, I'm afraid that mom won't have the support team she needs. Her friend is bipolar, and has attempted suicide in the past--an unfortunately frail personality to be leaning on. When I'm being the hurt and vengeful victim, I want to say good riddance, and I hope the door doesn't smack her on the rump on her way out. She's already tried to move once--about a month ago. She blew the engine in her car just over an hour away (it's about a nine hour drive to where she's going) and had to be rescued by my brother. She stayed with him for a week, and scared the shoes and socks off of him. But nobody can seem to see the trouble in a therapy visit--she can pull it together for an hour, or under conscious control. I desperately want her to get inpatient treatment. I hope that if she were observed for a few days, or even a week, that medical professionals could see the problems and perhaps help her. I don't know if she's taking her meds on time, or at all, I'm not sure if the meds she's taking are the right ones, or the right dosage. She might need more, she might need less, she might need different ones. She has never, in nearly 50 years, been able to keep control without medication. She's tried to control herself with diet before. Just one disaster of many. But for an involuntary commission, she needs to be declared a danger to herself or others. I doubt she will harm anyone (unless she drives me to a heart attack) and I don't think financial suicide is what they mean. She's on a fixed income anyway, so it's not like she has a job to stay here for. I'm just... at a loss.
Family drama. I really wish I could skip that.
Last year, she decided that my niece, her granddaughter, was seducing any man in sight. That girl's own somewhat tragic history makes this claim illogical at best. (Even that is probably saying too much--it's her story to tell or not as she sees fit. But anyone who knows her ought to realize this claim was ludicrous. One advantage that year was that there is a three hour drive between niece and grandma.)
This spring, she began by saying that requiring my children to help with housework (cleaning their own rooms and washing dishes, primarily) was going to drive them to run away or commit suicide. I caved in to blackmail and took eldest to see a therapist, who proclaimed us a normal family, including the arguments and the pre-teen drama.
So mom upped the ante. Now we're abusive because we own guns (both girls have said they want to go hunting this deer season, and they also like to fish, but I digress) and sometimes use spanking as a punishment. When SRS and the local Sheriff's department closed that investigation, she upped her game again.
Now, since eldest doesn't want to sit down and have a long, detailed conversation with her grammy about her private parts, she must therefore be suffering molestation by her father. As evidence, mom said that hubby's brother expressed that there is a family history of incest. (Brother-in-law in question has, in my hearing, told the following "joke:" Vice is nice, but incest is best! And while it may be off-color, politically incorrect, and offensive to some sensibilities, I do not believe for one minute that it the statement she claims it to be.) Mom has tried to trick me into taking the girls to the local emergency department for a pelvic exam to prove her point. My girls are nearly-nine and just-turned-twelve years old. I believe that is too young for such an invasive and inherently embarrassing, if not truly humiliating inspection. Especially since the "evidence" has been invented in the mind of a madwoman. (When eldest reached menarche earlier this year, I asked her doctor if I needed to schedule a visit. He said not for a few more years yet, unless she develops problems. But he did recommend the Gardasil vaccination. Which reminds me, I need to set that up. Eldest won't be happy with me--she hates shots.) Mom insists that since I don't agree with her, my husband must "have something on me" to stop me from speaking up. That's the most charitable thing she's said about me, since this all blew up with her initial abusive call on Mother's Day morning. I'm also, apparently, a lazy slob, a screamer, and a horrible mother. I'll claim the slob--I dislike housework with a burning passion. But while I may put it off, I generally get it done eventually, and hubby does more than his share. I'll have to accept the screamer designation--I'm battling severe pain in my feet, and walking is agony. So I'm more likely to call them to me to tell them something, rather that walking all over the house looking for them. Also, when my preteen screams at me, I'm not perfect, sometimes I scream back.
Mom has announced that she's moving away. (it helps to "hear" that with the tone of a three-year-old stomping off in a tantrum-induced huff.) She claims that she moved to this town to be near family (that's another story, I'll try to get to it later) and since now none of her family is speaking to her, she's going to go live near her friend at the other end of the state. That this leaves all her local friends behind doesn't seem to matter. The fact that she's the reason I'm not speaking to her (I can't see how getting verbal pins stuck into me at every conversation is supposed to be pleasant) doesn't register. One of her sisters isn't speaking to any of us, because she has been mad at us for over a year--she's bipolar, too, but in denial about it. And the peacemaker sister has a full time job with a local school (she's a nurse and counselor) as well as a part time job as a landlord, AND has her own husband, kids, and grandkids to give her time to. She doesn't deserve the stress, either.
When I'm being a caring daughter, I'm afraid that mom won't have the support team she needs. Her friend is bipolar, and has attempted suicide in the past--an unfortunately frail personality to be leaning on. When I'm being the hurt and vengeful victim, I want to say good riddance, and I hope the door doesn't smack her on the rump on her way out. She's already tried to move once--about a month ago. She blew the engine in her car just over an hour away (it's about a nine hour drive to where she's going) and had to be rescued by my brother. She stayed with him for a week, and scared the shoes and socks off of him. But nobody can seem to see the trouble in a therapy visit--she can pull it together for an hour, or under conscious control. I desperately want her to get inpatient treatment. I hope that if she were observed for a few days, or even a week, that medical professionals could see the problems and perhaps help her. I don't know if she's taking her meds on time, or at all, I'm not sure if the meds she's taking are the right ones, or the right dosage. She might need more, she might need less, she might need different ones. She has never, in nearly 50 years, been able to keep control without medication. She's tried to control herself with diet before. Just one disaster of many. But for an involuntary commission, she needs to be declared a danger to herself or others. I doubt she will harm anyone (unless she drives me to a heart attack) and I don't think financial suicide is what they mean. She's on a fixed income anyway, so it's not like she has a job to stay here for. I'm just... at a loss.
Family drama. I really wish I could skip that.
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