Strange recollections of the past

On Friday evening I received an email from my godmother. I’ll call her F. She reached out to me to say she had heard about my mother’s death and felt compelled to write to me.

She had searched for my name on the internet and then came across a podcast interview I was featured in. She listened to it and couldn’t believe what I disclosed. She said in her email “it confirmed what we saw and heard”. Then she went on to share stories about me as a baby and young child and how my mother was a good person etc. I emailed her back with a long email asking for clarification about what she meant by saying “it confirms what we saw and heard”. I told her about the abuse and its impact on my life and my sisters. I remained calm and considered and didn’t write in a tone of blame. Just matter of fact. I let her know;

“On Thursday morning, I woke to a message from Shirley (mum’s friend and the executor of her will). Shirley shared that dad had left 45 per cent to brother 1 and brother 2 and 5 per cent to my sister and me. A pointed statement from the grave that signals – ‘you are worth nothing in my eyes’. By standing up to him and saying ‘no’ to the abuse, he has punished us. It is deeply misogynistic and cruel. I appreciate you have good thoughts of my mother, and I don’t wish to negate these, but I cannot celebrate her subservience or her complicitness to the abuse. I forgive her and as I said, I have moved on, but it is not a life I respect or admire sadly. In fact, I feel sorry for her. I mean no offence to your feelings about J. They are completely valid also.”

She rang me and we spoke today. F confirmed that my father was not a nice man. He was very dominating and rude and mean and people didn’t like to be around him. She said my mum was very subservient to him and loyal because of her faith. She felt my mother had accepted her lot. She said my mum spoke in single statements. She rarely expanded on things she spoke about or ideas. Apparently my mum did yoga and F said it was an extreme form of yoga. She told me to google Margaret Segesman and that there’s 2 types of yoga:
Tantric
Kriya.

I always found it strange that my Catholic mother did yoga. Imagine if she did tantric??!!

We could only speak for half hour so I hope to be able to meet her again to discuss more of what she saw and heard. I found it somewhat validating but still fuzzy and unclear.

F said she thought mum was being abused but no one had language for it at that time in society.

Today I reached out to a lawyer to find out how I go about contesting the will. When I spoke to my sister she told me she reached out to my brother to check in on him. She asked about the funeral and he said it’s next July 4. We were both miffed / like when was he going to let us know? I thought that was so rude.

I’ll book my flight tomorrow. What a drama. I’ll just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

The will is announced

This morning I woke to a message on Facebook from my sister:

“Our dad is an evil man. I’m not going to the funeral given Shirley’s text.”

Whose Shirley? You might be wondering. Shirley is the executor of my mother’s will. She sent a text last night at 10pm:

“Hello All
Firstly sorry for your loss.
Wanted to let you know I am Executor of J’s will. The process will be awaiting death certificate, applying for probate, changing house title through Landgate to Exec to allow it to be sold. All this is quite a long tortured process I’m afraid and will take at least 6 months,
At the end of it all assets will be distributed as per will and I will provide an account to all of you of income/expenses. The terms of the will are a distribution of 45 per cent each to brother 1 and brother 2, and 5 percent each to daughter 1 and daughter 2.
Kind regards Shirley”

I redacted names for privacy. But in case you missed it, my brothers are to receive 45 percent each and me and my sister have been thrown peanuts. This is our father’s way of saying, “you selfish bitches. You reject me and I will reject you harder. You want some of my estate? Here you go. Here’s a measly amount – which is all you’re worth. You can go and battle it out in the courts if you want more”.

And at his funeral, how the priest spoke about my father’s undying love for God. His desperate need to hear the word and seek God right until his last breath. So hypocritical and cruel.

I am going to contest the will. It irks me that my brothers are being rewarded for staying silent and being compliant. So it’s going to be an interesting few months or longer as we battle this out.

I moved into a high trauma state by early morning, very dissociative and couldn’t stop shaking. But it felt good my body was doing that as I have so often just shut down in the past. I still participated in work meetings and life and a friend came over and we hung out and had dinner and watched “secret life of pets”. My parts and I love watching that movie with our dogs. 🐶

The mother is gone.

I woke this morning to a text from my brother letting me know my mum had died last night at 11.15 pm, June 19. I best keep record as I am not sure if I’ll remember this as an anniversary.

I still went to boxing and work and just got on with my day. I had therapy tonight and we checked in with my parts. Everyone is happy but feels a bit naughty for feeling this way. My T said it’s okay for us to feel happy. My system feels relieved and glad she (and him) cannot hurt us anymore.

I’ll go to the funeral, whenever it is. I’ll do the right thing. But I don’t think I’ll cry.

My ex husband texted me and said “condolences for your loss. A truly, loyal lady”. This shit me. Even after I cut off contact with my mother and father, my mum would ring M. I asked him to respect my decision and support me but he remained in contact with her. It was a real sore point whilst we were married. Even after we separated, he was still talking with her! I couldn’t believe it. And his comment about her being a loyal lady makes me queasy. Does he mean loyal to my father who was controlling and abusive and who she couldn’t leave due to his financial control and also the confines of Catholicism. Or does he mean loyal in terms of her persistence in trying to contact me through him? My T said that when I needed my mother she wasn’t there for me. Later in life, when she needed me or wanted me, I wasn’t there for her. We reap what we sow said my T.

I shared with my therapist five things I am deeply grateful of for my mother.

1. I am grateful for her home cooking. That we grew up in a house where there was rarely junk food or processed food. I feel very lucky for this as I know not everyone has this good base with nutrition.

2. She got me into drama at the local community centre which I am so thankful for. Doing drama saved me in so many ways and I fell in love with the arts from a very early age.

3. She drove me places and supported me in different ways that helped keep me engaged with community and life.

4. She catered for my short films from when I was about 17 to 19. This is a big deal as catering is always very expensive and requires a lot of time and effort. Everyone was volunteering on the films and so loved her home cooking.

5. She met my security needs – we had a clean house and food. Even though I never felt safe I think having your basic needs met is important.

Anyway, it’s over. Although it’s not. There’s a funeral and a will and other things to sort. Given I’m out of the family I doubt I will be an active agent in any of it. So the next few months will be an interesting ride.

Death, dying, break ups

My mum is dying. As of two days ago she had 24-48 hours to live, but that time has passed. I feel like it’s only a matter of days now but I am not with her and so do not really know. I will find out via my sister when it happens. Just like my father, who died three months ago, I feel numb and nonchalant. Still more upset about the breakup up than the deaths.

How could S leave me? She said she would never leave me. I have never felt so heart broken and sad before. Maybe I’m making up the intensity of my feelings. I don’t think I could look her in the face if I saw her. Too painful.

Mother, I don’t care if you die. It sounds so awful to write it out but I let you go so long ago. You are a distant memory to me. To see you would pain me. A reminder of everything I didn’t have. Yet I’m thankful for the things you were able to offer. Home cooked meals. You met my physical needs. You got me into drama when I was a kid. You took us to and from all of our activities. You catered for my short films and took it so seriously. I appreciated that.

When did it all go wrong? When I grew up and needed more from you? When you rejected me for being in a same sex relationship? When you didn’t try to get to know me. When I became sober and began to remember the nightmares. When I watched your submission. When I realised you would always be loyal to him.

And we stopped talking. I led the split. I couldn’t do a false relationship with you. I told you about the ritual abuse but you shunned me and denied me. You gave me nothing. I am left with feeling I made it all up and the resentment was my problem all along. I have no proof. I thought you were a witch but who knows. You loved God. Will my mother and father be in heaven? Will I know the truth of my past before I die? If I had more time and inclination I would rummage through your things when you pass. But it’s been so long since I visited the house, I don’t think I could go inside. I don’t think I could stomach the air.

Reflections from my fathers funeral

Today I went to the funeral of my father. I didn’t cry. I had a friend with me, a fellow survivor, who had my back the whole time. I don’t think I would have had the same experience without her being there.

Here are some recollections:

– the funeral was held at my old primary school in Perth. It felt so strange going back. So small. I always remember the oval and the grounds being so big, but of course this was through the eyes of a 7 year old.

– people are very polite and cordial at these events. Grief allows for moments of kind human interaction with strangers.

– seeing my brothers was weird. They didn’t acknowledge me. Mark just gave a nod and so did his wife. My brother Simon, who molested me at the age of 10 or 11 didn’t look at me. That kind of surprised me because he has usually been more forthcoming. I kind of respected how he shut off. Like “you’ve done nothing and rejected us so I reject you” kind of attitude. Taking back the power. Good on him. The other part of me thinks go f#*k yourselves.

– funerals share a side of a person that is socially acceptable and polite. Perhaps they are not the spaces for nuance but the lack of acknowledgement about different character faces irks me. Funerals held in churches cannot contain the multifaceted nature of truth. They stick to ritualistic practice as a way of framing experiences at the cost of honesty. I understood today how perpetrators are supported by the system and religion and victim-survivors are silenced.

– people hold different accounts of truth and understanding of who people are. All perspectives are right and more.

– I don’t hate my father. I feel icky about him and disappointed but I don’t hate him. Today did feel about closure and like the right thing to do. I’m sure there is more processing.

– my mother came in a wheelchair. She looked like a skeleton. Someone from the crowd whispered so loudly, “Gee, Judy looks so sick doesn’t she”. I’m sure my mother must have heard. It is clear she is dying- fast. I give it three weeks. After the funeral, I kissed both her cheeks. We spoke a bit. Mostly about her poor health. I said she needs to stay in hospital from Monday when she goes to get radiation treatment. I can’t imagine her leaving there once she goes in. She’s in too much pain. I hope for her sake, she passes soon. It wouldn’t be nice. She was married to my father for 50 years. This was acknowledged today and celebrated. I feel mixed about it. We can stay and support abusive behaviour or we can stop the cycle. It can also be hard for a woman with four kids who doesn’t have any money to do anything but keep a roof over everyone’s head and remain subservient. Who am I to judge?

– people grow old. I’m going to grow old. I do worry I won’t have anyone to look after me or help organise my death. Because I have struggled to value life, I guess I haven’t really thought about it too much. Now I am getting worried. Worried I will be alone and uncared for because I have shut people out of my life.

That’s all for now. I leave tomorrow afternoon and just want to be back home and put this behind me. I may need to return soon to say goodbye to my mum. 2024 is a big year.

–

Complicated grief

This morning, after an early weights session, I received a text from my sister telling me my dad had passed away in the early morning. An hour later, my older brother for whom I haven’t spoken to for years messaged me:

Hi ,

Your father X Y Z Pappa just died at The Sisters of the Poor in his sleep peacefully at 12:30am.

We were all there during afternoon to say goodbye forever…..

Love from us all.

Then lots of names were added.

*********

I reconciled a while back that my dad could die and I would perhaps not get to say goodbye or have any form of resolution. I feel nothing but then everything. I guess that says something? I hate it when my brother calls him “Pappa”, like we belong to the family in the ‘sound of music’.

There’s a part of me that feels bad for not being a better daughter. For not being kinder and more considerate. What proof do I have that he did abhorrent things? I know he beat my sister, verbally abused us, but that’s it. Is that so worthy of my silence and rejection?

Three days ago S, my girlfriend broke up with me. Well she needs some time off. Which I think is code for her buying time and mustering the courage to break it off. I’m gutted. I didn’t see it coming. Or maybe I was just blind to it. There’s been so much going on. The thing is, I believed she was a stayer. I truly believed her. She was so convincing. “I want to be with you forever”, “I want to get old with you” blah blah blah. I knew it was stupid. Too much of an age difference. Shoe was on the other foot this time. Me having always been the youngest in the past.

She said it feels like we are just co existing, just friends. The intimacy has gone. She said she’s been feeling like this for six months – thanks for telling me. I could feel she had given up on us.

At least now I can start fresh. Maybe have a relationship with no complex set up story or troubled history. Not that I want a relationship. I’m scared off. I feel like I’ve gotten my karma. You reap what you sow. But maybe I can date someone by age and be normal for once. Or maybe like many other SRA survivors I just can’t do relationships. Cos I’ll keep fuckin them up.

My mother is dying too – spinal cancer – not long to go. So yeah, do they say things happen in three’s?

I’m thankful I have two dogs and a roof over my head.

When I think about my father I feel sick. Ashamed. Angry. Confused. Despondent. Sad. Apathetic.

When I think about my mother I feel tired and angry and hurt and over it. And maybe a bit vindictive.

When I think about S, I feel sad and lonely and embarrassed and duped and stupid and unattractive.