Parte the Seconde

Since Saturday went so well, Mom invited my Partner & I over on Sunday. She promised that no surprise guests would turn up, so Partner & I duly drove over to that bastion of dungeonliness.

Ma, Pa, & Stanley were watching the third Fast & Furious movie at an incredibly high volume. They refused to turn it down or turn it off, so Partner & I were a bit confused. Surely, we thought, they're completely clueless as to how rude this must seem. If they're busy, we can come at another time...

Partner & I sighed, collected bowls of food, and trooped off to the living room to dine together in [relative] quietude. Looking around for something with which to entertain Partner, I spotted a family photograph album. Intrigued, I turned the pages slowly, marvelling at things like stamps collected over decades, pictures of my parents when they were young, a picture of my molester --

This is where that screechy sound of brakes being applied for all they're worth comes in.

I freeze, and at that moment my mother walks in. I ask her, "Can I rip him out of the photograph?"

She Flips Out.

She says NO!, that she doesn't want her pictures ripped up. I am shocked. Literally. I can't even move; all I can do is stare at her face, mouth flapping open & closed as she spews vile all over me. I think that, although mommy-slapping is not usually my thing, I would nevertheless savour the opportunity to slap the shit out of her at this moment. I say to her, "Oh, well, that's fine then. He's just the person who molested me. He only ruined my childhood, my adolescence, oh yes and my young adulthood --" She interrupts me by shouting (yes, she is shouting at this point -- and beginning to sob rather uncontrollably) that she tried her best, that I did not tell her what happened so how could she possibly have known? I should have told her! Because blaming the victim is what mommy does best.

Life is and always has been all about Her. She doesn't know how I am feeling; she doesn't care. She saw that interaction as, "You failed as a parent." Not as, "This picture hurts me. May I get rid of it?" When I called her this morning to see if she'd come to her senses, she still defended her decision to protect her precious photographs.

I have made an executive decision: My parents win the Defective Parenting Award.

Meditations from a Dark Hotel Room...

...well, not really. My office, actually.

So, my sib's graduation. Right. Well, watching him walk across the stage was mind-blowingly awesome. The after-graduation party at my parents' house was farcical. Firstly, no one told my Partner & I when to arrive. I called -- no one answered. We got there just as my sib was opening presents. Sib*, Sib's girlfriend, the Parents, my Partner, and I were happily hanging about, enjoying the day and my sib's accomplishment.

When who should arrive but...

My half-brother, the Product Of An Affair Which My Father Conducted During The Early Days Of My Parents' Marriage! (One of many, I might add. My mother laughs about them. How fucking sick & hollowed out & beaten down do you have to be to laugh about your husband cheating on you so many times?)

We'll call the Product Of An Affair Jimmy.

So, Jimmy rolls up in his noble steed. I'd like to kill whomever it was who invited him -- either my sib or my father -- since he didn't even fucking tell people at the gathering that Jimmy might show up. Sigh!; alas!; woe! -- but it gets better.

Along with Jimmy is young Maribel**, Jimmy's daughter. Which, if you're following along, makes Maribel... that's right... shout it out if you know it! My father's granddaughter!

I saw her, had kittens (a nice healthy litter), and literally ran for the back of the house, where I ensconced myself in my mother's bedroom. I'm not proud of my behaviour as I view it with the famous Lens of Hindsight; after all, I'm sure that young Maribel noticed that I spotted her, assumed the deer-in-headlights look, and ran away -- but I could not cope with her. None of us knew she would be coming; there were no preparations for her, no toys, no childproofing (she's old enough to refrain from drinking bleach, but still young enough that you'd want to make sure things are safe for her). None of us was prepared, emotionally or mentally or cognitively or whatever-y, to see this young person who is my dad's granddaughter.

I saw her, and it was like I regressed to her age (and, perhaps not surprisingly, she resembles me a little more than superficially when I was her age). I felt alone, hurting, suicidal, abandoned, unloved, lost at sea, all over again. (These are all things I still feel, but I have coping skills today which I did not have when I was a child.) It was the eeriest feeling I think I have ever had; time spun backward to the 1980s, and I was a vulnerable little girl again, sans coping skills, sans the knowledge that the shitty situation in which I found myself would someday get better (because I would be able to move out!). She even has the same big dark eyes that I have. She and I can't possibly share more than 1/8th of the same genes, yet she and I could have been sisters.

Jimmy told me once that he regretted having Maribel, and I would wager my life savings on the fact that she picks up on this. Just as I picked up on the fact that my parents didn't want me. (They later admitted it. Um... go me for ESP?) I know that her home life is hellish; she & Jimmy live with Jimmy's mother, who is a Bitch On Wheels. I feel so badly for her. So badly. I know what it is like to grow up with no stability, no adults who love you.

For the past few days, I've been wondering how she took all of that. That was nowhere close to being a gradual, slow introduction to this child who symbolises (to me) my parents' wreck of a marriage and my wreck of a childhood. Nor was that how she should have been introduced to a bunch of new people that I'm sure Jimmy has told her are her "family."

He introduced my mother to her with the words, "This is your step-grandmother." How must that have made my mother feel? a) Jimmy must cause her great pain regardless, and b) She has longed for grandchildren for years. She kinda got one... the one from my dad's affair.

The weekend gets better. See Parte the Seconde.

*It's time to give young Sibling a name -- Stanley!
**Name has been changed. Obviously. ;)