We Had to Fix This
My favorite mug falls to the floor
and breaks. I am upset as I see the mug
lying on the floor. I pick up the mug and
examine it, “We can fix this,” I say in relief.
The mug is a gift from my mother who knows how I love hot air balloons. The members of the adult Sunday school class I
was teaching had gone on a trip with our pastor who drove them to the Smithsonian
Museums in Washington, DC. It was on a weekday
and I was not able to go; I either had to be at work or was taking an exam for class
at college. When I got home later that
day my mother came to my house and presented me with the mug she bought with images
of hot air balloons on it (I hope to ride in one someday). I used the mug constantly for my coffee or tea
drinking. So I was really heartbroken
when I dropped my mug that I had for over 25 years. I went for ceramic glue and placed the only
piece the snapped off; the handle was a clean break. I repositioned the handle and glued it back
into place hoping that it would stay on firm and tight when I lifted the mug full
of liquids. We had to fix this...
How often had we opened our mouths
and said something out of line, inappropriate, by accident (if it was a secret
you promised to keep), without thinking or in anger and regretted those “loose
lips that sinks ships” that took off flapping in the first place. I have been there and never thought I would
ever “be there” when my mouth did its thing with my mother in the line of its
fire. We had to fix this…
I was not yet a Social Worker at the
time or working in the field of domestic violence back in the 1980’s. But I was not unfamiliar with domestic
violence and its effects on family in the home.
I moved out of the house at the age of 19. My mother then left with my sisters that same
year a few months later moving into her own apartment. My mother had lived with my father for 22
years and 20 of those years were abusive and traumatic as I later found out. I did not understand all the dynamics or the
root causes of violent behavior then as I do now; now that I work in this
field. But what happened between my
mother and me that one evening was a trigger for her of the abuse she
experienced with my father and it’s an experience I will not forget which helps
me with the work I do today with victim survivors of intimate partner violence.
When my sisters moved out of the
apartment my mother would spend most of her time at my place. I lived about three blocks away and it was
convenient for her to walk over, maybe have dinner waiting for me, watch some
television (I had Cable then and she did not) or just chat about things that
happened. On this one particular night,
I do not recall what the conversation was about but at those times my mother
would repeat herself or continue to talk about the same problem or issue that
at some point I raised my voice to her just let it go (It was too much). My mother got up turned to me crying saying,
“You don’t have to yell at me” and went out the door. That night I kept thinking, “I raised my
voice and I must have reminded her of Dad.”
My father was always yelling at my mother for this or that; he never was
satisfied and I just set off a trigger.
My mother did not come over the next day and I knew that I had to
apologize. I did not mean to remind her
of what she went through with my father.
We had to fix this…
A few days later my mother was at my
place (she had a key to let herself in) and as I walked in the door I knew we
had to talk. We started to speak at the
same time; we paused. Then I went first
and told her, “I am sorry for raising my voice.
After you left that night, I realized I must have reminded you of Dad
and I did not mean to.” My mother looked
at me and said, “I am sorry, too. I know
you were not yelling at me. I keep
bringing up the same things to you and I know I always worry a lot.” My mother knows I had never raised my voice
or yelled at her. I just exploded. My mother needed someone with whom she could
talk. My mother went through a lot with
my father and there were issues (that she shared much, much later during
therapy) that she could not share with me, with us, my other siblings at the
time. I recommended she see a therapist
but she declined. We had to fix this…
It took a while but during a routine
physical, my mother’s doctor was finally able to convince my mother to see a
therapist. I told my mother she needed
to follow through. After 20 years, my mother
is finished with therapy. As of this
writing, my mother is doing well, mentally and emotionally. She is able to talk about the past, her
memory is good and she can hold a conversation pretty well. Physically however, age has taken its toll on
her; she feels the pain in her joints, arthritis and uses a rollator to get
around outside her senior apartment building and she tires easily. My mother will be 80 this year. Yes, sometimes my mother forgets when and if
she has told me something already when I visit her from month to month but she
can hold her own. Now that I am more
knowledgeable about the dynamics of domestic violence and its effects on victim
survivors and their families, I am careful about what I do or say that might
cause “triggers;” not just for her but for the victim survivors with whom we
work. My mother knows that I work with
victim survivors of domestic violence and she is grateful that I do. I
understand and my mother is more relaxed and comfortable talking to me when the
need arises to “tell the chapters of her story.” We had to fix this…
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