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Family of Origin
That "why." Do we ever really know? Why does it matter?
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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 673296" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p>That is what I mean, that feeling, when I post that I no longer believe in my sister. I believe her. I no longer believe in her. That person I believed her to be never was.</p><p></p><p>How lovely for all of us that she may, just as easily, have chosen to step into that reality, that loving place where there is time. I will say this for my sister. She tried, I believe with my whole heart that she tried at least half-way, until my father died and my mother, destroying my father's reputation without a second's remorse to do it, took precedence, once again, in the family. My sister said again, in that last conversation we had, that my other had changed.</p><p></p><p>My mother seems to be very good at change. </p><p></p><p>This kind of thinking is why D H says I will need to be wide awake, should anything happen to him, and when my mother passes, whether he is still here with me or not.</p><p></p><p>Without the gyre turning tirelessly, voraciously, at the center, the hatred will collapse when my mother passes. It will be like the shed skin of a thing. </p><p></p><p>I note that I am not so fascinated with the why of it just lately.</p><p></p><p>I suppose the questions have been "Why, what was it about me, why would someone have chosen what they chose." And now, as the why behind it comes clear and the disbelief surrounding the hurt of it dissipates, there is only me, here.</p><p></p><p>And not her.</p><p></p><p>Not my mother.</p><p></p><p>But I don't miss her; that is the difference. Always before, I was willing to be who I needed to be, to believe whatever I needed to believe, to have her, to have my mother, to believe in her and in me and in all of us. Somehow, Copa's contention that there are many facets to love fits in here. I can love her, and us, and myself. Somehow, that fits in here and when it does, I will have another shining piece of the mosaic of self that I find lovely and perfectly mine and that I reclaim.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 673296, member: 17461"] That is what I mean, that feeling, when I post that I no longer believe in my sister. I believe her. I no longer believe in her. That person I believed her to be never was. How lovely for all of us that she may, just as easily, have chosen to step into that reality, that loving place where there is time. I will say this for my sister. She tried, I believe with my whole heart that she tried at least half-way, until my father died and my mother, destroying my father's reputation without a second's remorse to do it, took precedence, once again, in the family. My sister said again, in that last conversation we had, that my other had changed. My mother seems to be very good at change. This kind of thinking is why D H says I will need to be wide awake, should anything happen to him, and when my mother passes, whether he is still here with me or not. Without the gyre turning tirelessly, voraciously, at the center, the hatred will collapse when my mother passes. It will be like the shed skin of a thing. I note that I am not so fascinated with the why of it just lately. I suppose the questions have been "Why, what was it about me, why would someone have chosen what they chose." And now, as the why behind it comes clear and the disbelief surrounding the hurt of it dissipates, there is only me, here. And not her. Not my mother. But I don't miss her; that is the difference. Always before, I was willing to be who I needed to be, to believe whatever I needed to believe, to have her, to have my mother, to believe in her and in me and in all of us. Somehow, Copa's contention that there are many facets to love fits in here. I can love her, and us, and myself. Somehow, that fits in here and when it does, I will have another shining piece of the mosaic of self that I find lovely and perfectly mine and that I reclaim. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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That "why." Do we ever really know? Why does it matter?
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