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Family of Origin
Hey, Cedar, or anyone interested in FOO (Family of Origin) issues. Cedar, WHY NOW???
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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 658061" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>I was in the hospital for three days when I had my first baby. D H family came to see us, and to see this new person who had come into their family. Even if I left them, even if D H and I were divorced, this baby he and I had made and given birth to, would be theirs, would be their baby and their person they loved no matter what.</p><p></p><p>My mother did not come to the hospital where I had my baby. Neither did my father, of course.</p><p></p><p>She worked right down the street.</p><p></p><p>And I did not know how that changed my experience of my first baby's birth until my own daughter had her first baby. It meant so much to me that she wanted me, there. But she wanted the baby's father there, too. And I was (and we were) so appalled at who the father was, and at how any of this could have happened to any of us that I said that if he were there for the birth, then D H and I would come after to see our daughter and first grandchild.</p><p></p><p>If I had it to do over...I don't know. That child is now 22. She is the War of the Grandma's Baklava granddaughter. For her, I would have wanted to have seen her, so new, so brand new a baby. But I did not know that, then. I did not know how I would come to love her in some way that was, and that remains, something that brings all of us together in family in some way I cannot describe, not at all.</p><p></p><p>I knew that, by the time my second grandchild was born. She came on my birthday. I cut her umbilical. My granddaughter and I were there when my second granddaughter was born.</p><p></p><p>During daughter's labor? We brought pizza. Enough for the nurses, too. And daughter was so cranky and in labor and so on and hated that we were having pizza, like this was a party or something, that we ate our pizza in the lobby. And then daughter said we had to leave the room. So granddaughter and I went to sleep in the lobby, and that was okay. And they came and got us when our new baby was just born, just born, and I got to cut the umbilical and that was such a nice time we had there together, all of us.</p><p></p><p>And I am so happy to know that we did that, all of us together.</p><p></p><p><img src="/community/styles/default/xenforo/smilies/emoticons/starplucker.gif" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":starplucker:" title="starplucker :starplucker:" data-shortname=":starplucker:" /></p><p></p><p></p><p>For my third grandchild ~ a grandson, this time ~ the husband was there for the birth. D H and I came the next day with roses and fried chicken.</p><p></p><p>We did that same thing, for our fourth grandchild. He is a grandson, too.</p><p></p><p>When our son had his baby, we were in a faraway state. But we sent lots of money and saw the baby, and the new family that he made all of them, and all of us, into, as soon as we could get there.</p><p></p><p>So. That is a thing to be so grateful, so wonderfully, thankfully grateful for.</p><p></p><p>Gratitude.</p><p></p><p>However we got there, get there we did.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Gratitude for my mother. We are on such thin ice, here. The further I go ~ and I get it, that I probably don't remember the times there could be gratitude as well as I remember the hurt places. I described it once. What it feels like to be with my mom. Guarded would pretty much cover it. Gratitude....</p><p></p><p>Okay. so we were really little and we were all, cousins and everyone, at my grandmother's house, a farm in the country. And it was winter, and all the kids were sleeping in one or two rooms. And my mother came in to check on us or something and she looked so beautiful. And she made sure to give us the part of the blanket with the silk on it, so we would have that part against our faces, that so pretty silky part of the blanket.</p><p></p><p>So, she loved us, then.</p><p></p><p>That time.</p><p></p><p>I wonder whether that is enough to get me through the rest of this.</p><p></p><p>I am proud of how my mom looks, even now she is a pretty, pretty woman. She wears leggings and cute little leopard print jackets and she has pierced ears, and she is very bright. She can write a story about herself, can put a story together in a sweet and funny way. I saw them, read them at her request, those stories she wrote for her Writer's Group. I like it that she is smart.</p><p></p><p>I like it that she thinks ~ that I think she thinks, I am...what is the word. Attractive enough that she is proud of that, of how I look and who I am, when I am with her.</p><p></p><p>I just wish I did not feel sort of like a whore or something at the same time. Like, I have to prove to whichever of her friends it is that I am not what we both know, my mother and me, that true thing that we know.</p><p></p><p>That is me, hugging myself and being happy about that.</p><p></p><p><img src="/community/styles/default/xenforo/smilies/emoticons/hugs.gif" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":hugs:" title="hugs :hugs:" data-shortname=":hugs:" /></p><p></p><p>So, here is a dream I had the night before my sister called. Or after she called, or somewhere in there. In one of those little personal coolers, I think they are called "Playboy" coolers ~ at least, that is what the cooler in the dream has printed on it, I have packed a change of clothing. And while I am at work in the dream, a supervisor from a place I really did work, when the kids were still okay and were old enough that I had gone back to work part time, appears and accuses me of having stolen the clothing in my portable ice chest.</p><p></p><p>And of course, that is the imagery of the heart.</p><p></p><p>Of the places within me that are still on ice, that I carry around, unexplored and unassimilated. I just got that, reviewing this dream for myself here.</p><p></p><p>And I say this is not so, because look, there are no pricetags on the clothes. they are my clothes that I brought from home to change into, later.</p><p></p><p>And the supervisor, who has changed into some ugly caricature of herself, says I did steal them. And everyone, my coworkers, knows I did not steal them. But they are afraid of her too.</p><p></p><p>And so I am fired, I am going to be fired. And the supervisor is going to press charges for all she is worth; and I know that.</p><p></p><p>And that's the dream.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Okay. so, that's enough gratitude, maybe.</p><p></p><p>The imagery for my mother, then. The one that will validate my decision to know she has not changed and may not change, and is still dangerous to me. That she is still dangerous to me, how?</p><p></p><p>My sister's imagery, that set point for her, had to do with how to know she does not love me. My sister has worked very hard, and is doing so well to do the things she knows to do. She is trying very hard to love my mother into family, to just go ahead and create family all around her and love and love her where she is until she is there for real.</p><p></p><p>Now, why don't I want to do that.</p><p></p><p>Now, why don't I want to do that, again?</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p><p></p><p>Well, maybe it won't come to me, in one day.</p><p></p><p>I will take a break from it, from this, for now.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 658061, member: 17461"] I was in the hospital for three days when I had my first baby. D H family came to see us, and to see this new person who had come into their family. Even if I left them, even if D H and I were divorced, this baby he and I had made and given birth to, would be theirs, would be their baby and their person they loved no matter what. My mother did not come to the hospital where I had my baby. Neither did my father, of course. She worked right down the street. And I did not know how that changed my experience of my first baby's birth until my own daughter had her first baby. It meant so much to me that she wanted me, there. But she wanted the baby's father there, too. And I was (and we were) so appalled at who the father was, and at how any of this could have happened to any of us that I said that if he were there for the birth, then D H and I would come after to see our daughter and first grandchild. If I had it to do over...I don't know. That child is now 22. She is the War of the Grandma's Baklava granddaughter. For her, I would have wanted to have seen her, so new, so brand new a baby. But I did not know that, then. I did not know how I would come to love her in some way that was, and that remains, something that brings all of us together in family in some way I cannot describe, not at all. I knew that, by the time my second grandchild was born. She came on my birthday. I cut her umbilical. My granddaughter and I were there when my second granddaughter was born. During daughter's labor? We brought pizza. Enough for the nurses, too. And daughter was so cranky and in labor and so on and hated that we were having pizza, like this was a party or something, that we ate our pizza in the lobby. And then daughter said we had to leave the room. So granddaughter and I went to sleep in the lobby, and that was okay. And they came and got us when our new baby was just born, just born, and I got to cut the umbilical and that was such a nice time we had there together, all of us. And I am so happy to know that we did that, all of us together. :starplucker: For my third grandchild ~ a grandson, this time ~ the husband was there for the birth. D H and I came the next day with roses and fried chicken. We did that same thing, for our fourth grandchild. He is a grandson, too. When our son had his baby, we were in a faraway state. But we sent lots of money and saw the baby, and the new family that he made all of them, and all of us, into, as soon as we could get there. So. That is a thing to be so grateful, so wonderfully, thankfully grateful for. Gratitude. However we got there, get there we did. *** Gratitude for my mother. We are on such thin ice, here. The further I go ~ and I get it, that I probably don't remember the times there could be gratitude as well as I remember the hurt places. I described it once. What it feels like to be with my mom. Guarded would pretty much cover it. Gratitude.... Okay. so we were really little and we were all, cousins and everyone, at my grandmother's house, a farm in the country. And it was winter, and all the kids were sleeping in one or two rooms. And my mother came in to check on us or something and she looked so beautiful. And she made sure to give us the part of the blanket with the silk on it, so we would have that part against our faces, that so pretty silky part of the blanket. So, she loved us, then. That time. I wonder whether that is enough to get me through the rest of this. I am proud of how my mom looks, even now she is a pretty, pretty woman. She wears leggings and cute little leopard print jackets and she has pierced ears, and she is very bright. She can write a story about herself, can put a story together in a sweet and funny way. I saw them, read them at her request, those stories she wrote for her Writer's Group. I like it that she is smart. I like it that she thinks ~ that I think she thinks, I am...what is the word. Attractive enough that she is proud of that, of how I look and who I am, when I am with her. I just wish I did not feel sort of like a whore or something at the same time. Like, I have to prove to whichever of her friends it is that I am not what we both know, my mother and me, that true thing that we know. That is me, hugging myself and being happy about that. :hugs: So, here is a dream I had the night before my sister called. Or after she called, or somewhere in there. In one of those little personal coolers, I think they are called "Playboy" coolers ~ at least, that is what the cooler in the dream has printed on it, I have packed a change of clothing. And while I am at work in the dream, a supervisor from a place I really did work, when the kids were still okay and were old enough that I had gone back to work part time, appears and accuses me of having stolen the clothing in my portable ice chest. And of course, that is the imagery of the heart. Of the places within me that are still on ice, that I carry around, unexplored and unassimilated. I just got that, reviewing this dream for myself here. And I say this is not so, because look, there are no pricetags on the clothes. they are my clothes that I brought from home to change into, later. And the supervisor, who has changed into some ugly caricature of herself, says I did steal them. And everyone, my coworkers, knows I did not steal them. But they are afraid of her too. And so I am fired, I am going to be fired. And the supervisor is going to press charges for all she is worth; and I know that. And that's the dream. *** Okay. so, that's enough gratitude, maybe. The imagery for my mother, then. The one that will validate my decision to know she has not changed and may not change, and is still dangerous to me. That she is still dangerous to me, how? My sister's imagery, that set point for her, had to do with how to know she does not love me. My sister has worked very hard, and is doing so well to do the things she knows to do. She is trying very hard to love my mother into family, to just go ahead and create family all around her and love and love her where she is until she is there for real. Now, why don't I want to do that. Now, why don't I want to do that, again? Cedar Well, maybe it won't come to me, in one day. I will take a break from it, from this, for now. [/QUOTE]
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Hey, Cedar, or anyone interested in FOO (Family of Origin) issues. Cedar, WHY NOW???
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