nixtress's Diaryland Diary

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Facing evil

When my mother was young, when her siblings were even younger, their mother left them, after an acrimonious divorce, with my mother's stepfather. The reasoning was that he was in a position to better support them, as he had a job and my grandmother didn't. In addition, he was staying in the house they'd basically spent most of their young lives in and therefore, they should as well. It didn't help that he was also dating the court investigator at the time and convinced her that he was the better parent.
My grandmother moved away, left her 5 children with this man (some of those children were his stepchildren, some his biological children) to raise and began another life elsewhere. She joined the Army, worked hard and tried, when she could, to see her kids.
What she didn't know, in leaving her children with this man in hopes that they'd have a better life there, was that she was also leaving them to a life of pain and abuse.
My mother's stepfather was a very strict man. He came from a family that didn't believe in sparing the rod, or the willow switch, or the pins-thru-the-tongue, or the other assorted abnormal ways of disciplining children. He also came from a family where his own stepmother believed it was A-okay to "fiddle" with her stepson.
Can you see where I'm going with this?
My mother is the oldest of all her siblings. She's told me stories: how when he thought they were lying, they'd get pins thru their tongues, into the tabletop until they would admit it (whether it was true or not), they had to kneel on marbles on the floor for minor transgressions, got beat regularly with whatever was on hand, would get locked outside of their home if they were more than two minutes late coming home from school (and then had to sleep on the porch or in the barn, regardless of weather conditions). She told me how my youngest aunt got locked in the coal bin with urine-soaked sheets for two days over Summer break because she accidentally wet the bed.
My mother has ongoing phobias about bats because she was locked in the barn with them.
Apparently, after the divorce, he did as was typical for alot of men at that time---he transferred all of the duties (ALL of the duties) of a wife onto my mother. She cooked, she cleaned, she took care of her younger siblings, and she was raped by him.
He began molesting her and continued molesting her until she got pregnant by a boy at age 15 and escaped him.
There were times, as a kid, when I was visiting with one of my aunts, I'd be taken to his house. For a while, I didn't understand my mother's horror when she heard that.
She has never gotten over what happened to her. My mother has been in and out of therapy so many times, I've lost count. And still, her entire life continues to be shaped by those early events.
Last night, my mom called to ask if I'd go with her today while she talked with this man. Long story short, she'd received a birthday card from him and in it, he referred to a letter he'd received from another relative stating if he didn't AT LEAST apologize, they were going to post a letter to the police, to the newspaper and to his current wife in regard to the sexual abuse. I believe, down deep, this particular relative was hoping this effort would help my mother move on with her life.
Today, I sat a table away and listened as a frail, beaten down old man admitted he'd abused my mother, admitted he'd abused her siblings, admitted that he'd had sex with her so many times he'd lost count...and apologized. It was very clear to me, that in some twisted way, he truly believed he was making her feel "special", that by delegating the sexual duties to her, he was elevating my mother within the family. He even said he thought as she'd gotten older, that it was consensual.
I believe, down deep, that this was a case of "transferance". I believe that for whatever reason, he viewed my mother as the stand-in for his lost wife. While I can't say that I'll ever understand that, from a psychological point of view, it's very common.
I went as her moral support, as a means to remind her that she wasn't alone and wasn't in danger. I went because she asked me to.
It was sad and pathetic in some ways, to see this broken man confessing his evils. It made me sick to my stomach and extremely proud of my mom, to have the strength to face her own private hell. It was sad, too, because looking at this man, you'd never once think he was a monster inside.
I spent some time tonight, nearly an hour and a half, talking with her just a bit ago and I can hear a vague sort of relief in her voice. She sounds...lighter. I don't know where she'll take this, don't know if it gives her some closure...I would think, in some ways, it might help, but I don't know if anything can ever erase the memories of those acts. I know that she was prepared for him to react as most abusers do---denial, lies, and attempts to put the blame on anyone else. And in my heart of hearts, I'm glad it didn't go as she expected.
She needed something different.
It's good to hear her sounding hopeful.
In some ways, it helped me to get a greater picture of why her life has gone the way it has. I can't imagine how it could have gone any differently when begun under those circumstances.
Tonight, for the first time since I can remember, I had a conversation with my mother where she was the mother and I was the daughter. Period.
Maybe there's hope for us too.
N.

9:47 p.m. - 2006-08-04

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