Family Loss

I have raised four children, and I count this as my most cherished and lasting achievement. They are not perfect, but all are contributing to society in meaningful ways. When their Dad, my husband of 45 years, passed away in 2019, it was a trigger for personality struggles among the adult children, and suddenly I was a widow without my family group. I was lost, knowing I had to continue on but not knowing how. This was my Veyo Hill.

And it was so much higher and steeper than I could imagine.

Two years later I was still trying to ascend out of the despair when the discord around my kids started to choke me out as well. I had aimed to be "non-partisan" and relate to each son or daughter (two of each) one-on-one, since they would not meet together and rise above their differences. But that drew angry and hurtful reactions from my eldest daughter... who left town without even a goodbye.

Veyo was rough. I couldn't go on. All I wanted was a rock to hide behind. I obviously failed at this motherhood thing if the core of family had split so completely, leaving all five members so desperately thirsty emotionally.

But God called me to forgive, not to give up. So, after many months, I made the first call to her. "Just touching bases," I said. She didn't say much. The call ended after a very short & meaningless conversation.

The next month I tried again. My plan was to tread lightly on these periodic phone calls,, avoiding the treacherous rocky paths. Idle chatter. Even "Seen any good movies lately?" Suddenly she felt the need to "tell me something." Which began the worst part of the marathon, leaving me distraught and nearly catatonic for days.

What came next still baffles me, and cut me to the core. She angrily recounted memories she had from childhood, which had no substance of truth. She remembered, for example, my having "drunken rages," where I would go storming out of the house and leaving her (at 9 years old) to make dinner for her 3 younger siblings. Ironically, I did not drink! Not wine, not beer, not hard stuff. There had been some arguments with my husband, who did enjoy a variety of alcoholic beverages, but I did not. Several other stories followed, with a summary of "we were raised as feral children...."

Now I was stricken. How could she believe what she was saying? But she did. Was it false memories brought on by mismanaged therapy? Grief for her Dad mangling the details of her early life?

I didn't know. And in my shocked state I began to have doubts about my mothering history. I began to seek input from a close friend from that time period, just to check in with what they observed. But mostly I wondered how a person finishes running a race when they can't even stand up anymore. I desperately needed counseling at this point, but could not get myself to find it.

My sister was my trail angel. She gently encouraged me to get up and keep moving. She reminded me of the three other siblings who did NOT remember those false events. She got me to quench my thirst with sips from their support, not relying on the eldest. My sister's support got me back on the trail, slowly and steadily, and allowed me to take steps to talk to people who could help me.

I am still on Veyo Hill. I feel close to my other children, and at least friendly with my eldest, who has never mentioned those memories to me again. I don't know if we will ever talk about it, or if we even should. I made an offer to fly out to help her after she had a major abdominal surgery, feeling sure she would decline...but she gratefully accepted, and we both survived the week a little stronger than before. So I think we may have crested Veyo, but we're not home yet.

I was not the only one thirsting at the time the family bonds unraveled. I had to learn to offer what hydration I could to the driest, thirstiest souls I knew.