Family of Origin (FOO) Support Thread Part 2

Copabanana

Well-Known Member
Cedar, I have never read a book by Ann Rice. I am afraid of things occult or science fiction or horror movies or anything that is not tethered to the real. Even comics and cartoons frightened me. Even Edgar Allen Poe. My whole life.

Some children and I used to go to Saturday Matinee Movies. The double will was The Fall of the House of Usher, and The Fly. I remember it like it was yesterday. They convinced me that they were comedies. I still remember my fear.

That said, I would love to know Ann Rice's books. It would be special to read them on the train. What is their appeal to you, if you would like to share? Do they frighten you?

Thank you.
 

Scent of Cedar *

Well-Known Member
That said, I would love to know Ann Rice's books. It would be special to read them on the train. What is their appeal to you, if you would like to share? Do they frighten you?

She deals with the moral issues involved in being human from the perspectives of those who are no longer human. Less so in the books about witches, very much so in the books about vampires, she deals with what happens to her characters when they are freed of the fears attending all things to do with death. The spiritual issues of redemption and purpose, and the moral issues of theft, of the taking of life to sustain your own. Her characters cannot die. They must take the lives of others to live or suffer unending torment.

A moral choice.

One of the vampires refuses to take human life.

Most of them celebrate the savagery of it because that is their dilemma and they choose to face it.

All of them have come to terms with what they must do to survive ~ with the moral question at the heart of it.

Life is described as the Savage Garden. Beautiful, heartless, cherished, regretted; savored.

Religious belief, the cruelty and the beauty and mankind's desperate attempt to make sense of it all. (She has written a non-fiction account of her own spiritual journey, and of her return to Catholicism.) She has written a number of outright pornographic novels, too. I have not read those. There is a heavy sensuality and graphic description in her writing you may find offensive. It doesn't seem out of place or contrived. I don't know what else to say about that. Her novels are filled with that kind of imagery.

She's written a novel, Cry to Heaven, about castrato males and the choirs of St Peter's. Taken from the truth of what happened in those times.

Servant of the Bones will teach much about Judaism, and about Cyrus, and about Alexander the Great. That one would be least frightening, I think. A young Jewish son agrees to be encased in gold, and to stand beside the conquering Cyrus as he parades through the streets of Babylon. As he is dying from the gold, he is turned into a powerful spirit, but not by Cyrus. Those who perform the magic to do this to him don't know what they are doing and so, though he was created to be an evil thing, he has free will.

He is his own.

He is sent by Cyrus to the most powerful magician of the time, who teaches him that the purpose of life is to love, and to learn.

This is the one thing he remembers, throughout all of time.

The book proceeds, from there. I have given nothing important away, but that is the flavor of the book.

Her books always deal with the questions of good and evil, and of how it happens that her characters make their decisions.

She writes about God, and about what that would mean for a being who may never die. The Stairway to Heaven is envisioned multiple times in her novels. The character Lestat, a vampire, is taken to Heaven, and to Hell, by a powerful angel in one of her novels. One of the vampires had, as a Russian boy, been destined to be taken into the Cave of the Monks, an honor to the monk who will be encased to his neck in soil and given only enough sustenance to keep the body alive, that the monk could come to know God without distraction. The boy is turned into a vampire, instead. When the Veil of Veronica, the cloth said to have borne the imprinted image of the Christ, is found, this vampire, hundreds of years old by this time, tries to fly into the sun to release his spirit, to unite with God.

He awakens, burnt beyond hope but alive, his spirit broken.

There is a whole book about that, about God, and about longing and loneliness and hope. And evil, and about what it is.

Cedar
 

Copabanana

Well-Known Member
I heard myself in my mind's ear saying this: Of course you know that my mother died recently....she did not love me very much.

And I started to cry.

I accept my mother could not care about me and love me the way I needed. But I do want to face that I felt unloved. Even if it is the truth, I do not want to face that.

So I will leave it at this: My Mother said she loved me. I believed her. Her love and her acts of love sometimes did not feel as such.

And with this I am filled with sadness even greater than before.

Because I loved her, and I needed and still need her love.

I asked M if he thought my Mother loved me. Why are you thinking of such foolishness, he replied. Of course she did.

M is afraid to take the southern route. He says there has been a big push to find undocumented people and they are stopping people on the highways south of Los Angeles. All we need, he said, is to die of fright en route.

Update: New Orleans has been cancelled due to fear of ICE.

New Amtrak route: Los Angeles to Chicago. Bus the rest of the way.
 
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BusynMember

Well-Known Member
M is afraid to take the southern route. He says there has been a big push to find undocumented people and they are stopping people on the highways south of Los Angeles. All we need, he said, is to die of fright en route. So, I may need to rethink the route through New Orleans. Afterall I have to keep my eye on the ball, getting there.
I think that's a good idea. I think the south is beautiful and friendly, but not necessarily for certain people. Of course, nowhere is safe for everyone, but I feel safer with my interracial family living in the north. Maybe that's just an old stereotype I have. I never lived there and don't want to judge a place I've never really hung my hat.
I have been to New Orleans and had a blast though! :)
 

Copabanana

Well-Known Member
I did buy the tickets to go as far as Chicago. I am looking to buy the rest of the way on Megabus, which stops a few blocks from the Amtrak Station.

I am thinking about the possibility of calling my sister, who lives in Pennsylvania to see if she would meet me on a stopover. I do not think she would either answer or return my call, but if she would meet me alone without her husband, I might do it.

But he is her security blanket. If she answered the call or returned it. I doubt if she would consent to not bring her husband.

I do not want that slug/worm husband near me. And I guess if I cannot accept his presence, I cannot seek out hers.
 

BusynMember

Well-Known Member
'Wow. I as just at that station. Think of me when you are in Chicago. That's where I caught the Greyhound.

I hope if you see your sister, it goes nicely. And that slug/worm stays in his hole in the ground.
 

Scent of Cedar *

Well-Known Member
I heard myself in my mind's ear saying this: Of course you know that my mother died recently....she did not love me very much.

And I started to cry.

I'm sorry, Copa. But in a very real way, I celebrate this for you. This is the Child I think, Copa. This is how she has felt, this is how she has understood, all the things that happen in a life.

But you are coming to yourself, now.

Awakening, time after time, to your own self instead of hating her, reviling her truths as unimportant or herself as unworthy.

I am deeply, deeply happy that you were able to hear her Copa, at last.

It's an incredible thing, to fall in love with ourselves, to recognize ourselves for the first time, beneath the filth we were buried beneath.

What a survivor she is!

Cedar
 

Scent of Cedar *

Well-Known Member
I accept my mother could not care about me and love me the way I needed. But I do want to face that I felt unloved. Even if it is the truth, I do not want to face that.

So I will leave it at this: My Mother said she loved me. I believed her. Her love and her acts of love sometimes did not feel as such.

And with this I am filled with sadness even greater than before.

Because I loved her, and I needed and still need her love.

I asked M if he thought my Mother loved me. Why are you thinking of such foolishness, he replied. Of course she did.

We were hurt alone Copa, and we need to rescue and then, hold and hear and comfort and nurture ourselves alone, too. No one can do it for us. What those who love us can do is believe we are better than we have been taught to believe we are. They can look into our eyes as we come aware and cherish us, like always. They can roar on about dinner, like always.

It's like...huh. They were here, all along.

More and more of ourselves warms and awakens.

Everything changes.

No one can take away those parts of self we reclaim. No one ever did really take them. We froze or put them into deep sleeps to protect them. Now, we are strong enough ~ not our husband, not even our witnesses here ~ we are more present. With each warming, with each reclamation, we are more present. Where there was fear, where there was something to protect, there is only us, now.

Home at last.

A new day, dawning. And for the first time Copa and Serenity, we are here to see it, and to feel the warmth of it on our faces.

Cedar
 

Copabanana

Well-Known Member
But I do want to face that I felt unloved. Even if it is the truth, I do not want to face that.
I just noticed my ambivalence here. When I wrote this yesterday I felt definitely on the side of I do not want to face that I felt unloved.

Today, this is my understanding: My mother loved me in the way she could.

Do you know how hard it was to be with her as she died? As her heart stopped and she took her last breath? Can anyone imagine my pain in those moments? Will it ever go away?
 
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InsaneCdn

Well-Known Member
Will it ever go away?
Copa, Hugs.
Pain like that doesn't every totally disappear. It's more like a scar. When the scar is new, it is obvious - and very painful. Over time, it heals. And then slowly fades. Sometimes a scar can fade so much that you have to know it is there to find it. But it is still there. I think this kind of pain is the same way.
 

Scent of Cedar *

Well-Known Member
I have worried, too, that because there are three of us, that there is the risk of triangulation....even in if it is just in one or more of our minds.

But we need to remind ourselves that the 3 legged stool is of the most stable of designs.

Each of us has a dose of cruelty or sadism. Well-hidden, and usually, in our cases, turned against ourselves.

To anticipate that Cedar and I would hurt you, is to hurt yourself, Serenity, because should one of us do that Serenity it would only reflect very badly on us. You would not have deserved it. We would have revealed our own weakness, or smallness. We would have revealed our own secret shame, not yours.

This is excellent, Copa.

Cedar
 

Copabanana

Well-Known Member
It looks like this thread is coming to a close. I want to say something in gratitude to those of you who gave so much of your heart and vast wisdom and experience. I learned so much in a way that could not have been possible in any other way. Thank you for your friendship. I will always be indebted.

COPA
 

Scent of Cedar *

Well-Known Member
Do you know how hard it was to be with her as she died? As her heart stopped and she took her last breath? Can anyone imagine my pain in those moments? Will it ever go away?

No, Copa. Nor would you want it to. This ending, this way it was, for her and for you, is your honor. It could have been any of a thousand other ways. It is not easy for you. There were many things accomplished but oh, so many left undone, or that you would do differently or that you wish had never been just as they were. It cannot have been easy for you, those first moments of being alone. But you are strong, Copa.

It doesn't have to be easy.

This is truly what happened: At the end of your mother's life, you were there. You were with her through it, Copa and you truly mourn her passing and you learned the measure of love and so few of us receive that gift.

You are strong enough, Copa.

It will take the time it takes, and Serenity and IC and pasa and nerfherder and SuZir and I and all of us will be here when you post. Sooner or later, we will be right here. You aren't alone, this does not have to be another ending.

You are doing well, Copa.

Just look how you are standing right up to the pain. You couldn't do that before. Not in this way, Copa.

You held your mother as she died. On every level, there is more coming, more has happened, more has changed, than you know.

I have been waiting, knowing you wanted to be done, knowing you might not be ready, knowing you might. You are that close Copa and for a time, you may find the work we've done here distasteful.

We will be waiting, reading and waiting, living and celebrating and growing Copa, just like you will be, too.

Right here, or nearby; within the reach of a day or two.

Cedar
 

Copabanana

Well-Known Member
Right here, or nearby; within the reach of a day or two.
We have my mother's car. I bought my sister's portion, because I did not want to lose it. A 1990 perfect Honda. Miles so low it is amazing. This morning M woke me up to say goodbye and asked me to go to the bank to withdraw $300 to buy a part. A sensor.

I felt mild resentment. Why is it always me who has to pay? And I had several thoughts in succession in the next few seconds. I could leave him. And then I would be alone. I am still not functional. It would mean the end of my life. It already may be. Maybe if I ended things with M I would get better. I would have to stand on my feet to do something. Maybe it is the dependency. If I were alone I would have to get up and do something.

And then I remembered the therapist. And I remembered staying with him for years and years because I felt I was not strong enough to leave. And the betrayals. How it felt. Years and years of compromising myself because I did not feel strong enough to leave. The therapist, taking my money or not, for what? Because he lacked faith in my strength to leave? That he could not tolerate a sense of failure or take responsibility for it?

I will need to post again. And again and again. About the therapist. I do not want to play this out with M. That relationship deserves to stand or fall on its own weight.

The thing is I am not carrying my weight. I am bad again. Wiped out emotionally. Again. Without the desire to do anything.

It is like I feel I am on my feet and may have my bearings and another wave comes crashing onto me and I am submerged. I find myself wondering, was my whole life lived underwater? And with the death of my mother and now my son, will I be forced to deal with the cumulative effects of the so many crashing waves that felled me over and over again in my life? Or was there only the default of my parents and everything that followed after that?

I am taking the antidepressant so I am hopeful. That is a good thing.

I realized I needed to post. I wondered where. Coming to the board, I read first your post, Cedar. Thank you. I will continue about the therapist. Here. On this thread. Later today or tomorrow. I am not sure when.

COPA
 

Copabanana

Well-Known Member
We will be here, Copa.

I found this on my FB this morning. I thought of you, Copa. And of all of us here on the site, grieving our children and coming back from it and how hard it all is.

Cedar

Thank you, Cedar. I copied it onto this thread so that I could have it.

I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not.

I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents...

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. But I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it.

Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too.

If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.
 

Scent of Cedar *

Well-Known Member
And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was.

And this is where we are going. Flexible, vulnerable, strong with real strength; certain.

I'm glad you liked it.

:O)

Now I really do have to go get ready.

Cedar

P.S. We will work through that therapist with you, Copa. I carried that burden of what my therapist did for something like twenty-five years.

And I only saw him once every two weeks for a matter of months.

It makes perfect sense that your healing will take time.

Remember?

"What wound did ever heal, but by degrees?"

But you will, and I will, and Serenity and SuZir too, will be stronger, where the scar tissue has healed, than the original flesh ever was.

Cedar
 
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