I've danced round and round during the hours since the aha! with a variety of ways to tell you what I must tell you...I've written a thousand different melodies, and I've re-arranged the verses. I go from chronology to vinettes, I reverse the chronology from ending to beginning. I vex myself with wondering how much of the story I can tell and keep safe my promises not to betray anyone. For while it is my story to tell; it also belongs to others and I must respect their safety and their trust in me not to splatter the truth for strangers to read. And I come to this conclusion....that I will tell you first...this:
It is a good story, it ends well. Well, that's if the story had ended - but of course it has not. There will be times when you read the story and think to yourself; how? why? How could these things have happened - she seems a bright enough sort - how did she allow these things to come to pass? But she did; could she have changed things? How might the story be different if she had changed things? How could she have endured? How did her children endure? Why didn't someone talk some sense into her? Why didn't someone save them?
I can only say in answer to these, that life has its own wisdom. And, that I have come to believe that the story simply unfolds; and that we have less to do with its unfolding than we imagine. Which is NOT to say that we are powerless, or that we are not responsible; only that we do the best we can, and we accept that very often we do not do the best we can. We hold fast to our love for each other and our love for ourselves; trust the process and very often hold faith in life's wisdom. As my children have taught me to say: It's all Good.
In the Beginning
I had imagined that I must begin with my own life; follow that with my marriage (ha!), my divorce and the chaos that follows. Those are long chapters, and not so much fun as a general rule. And so, for the moment, until the next moment inspires me, I will give you broad strokes, and start, not so much at the real beginning - which is probably much further away and more distant than even I can reach. I will begin here...
I agonized over every parenting decision. I read every book published. My children, for the most part, were born in the same bed where they were concieved. I nursed and each child led the weaning process. I practiced attachment parenting, my children rarely saw TV, we ate organic foods, I reseached and studied and my children were not immunized; my children were not punished by spankings, for the most part their lives were filled with kindness and acceptance, our days were slow and soft. Our home was sweet...I stenciled walls, I painted cast-off furniture, I grew a substantial portion of what we ate. We lived in community, our friends were (mostly) like-minded, there were other wonderful adults and role models.
My memories, distorted as I'm sure they are, are championed by Daughter #3 who once told all of her friends, "My mother made every single piece of clothing that we wore." I can assure you that is a distorted memory (revealed by the fact that she also speaks of our "fun" outtings to the goodwill store). We ate not much sugar (why oh why would my inlaws not cooperate in this request?). I homeschooled my children in the Waldorf/Steiner way. My girls learned handcrafts and artsy creativeness, they were encouraged, praised. I did not allow plastic toys, Barbie dolls (well, I finally lost on that one Thank you Mom), there were absolutely no toy guns, no violent images. We did charitable things together, we sang in the choir, we meditated and attended spiritual activities. I covered all my bases - my children had Communion one day and participated in Pipe Ceremony the next.
My children were (mostly) obedient, helpful, funny, talented and (mostly) well-behaved. I watched other children have temper tantrums and imagined myself to be the best mother around. I was baffled. I wondered what she must have done to initiate such behavior in her children. Too much sugar? Failure to inspire? To direct? To play? What? I must be a good mom, eh?
My girls learned to do their own laundry as soon as they could reach the dials. They did chores, they learned the rythym of the seasons, they learned to garden - and did much of the heavy work (though not as much as they will tell you they did). They learned to cook and bake bread and make gifts for their friends. There was much singing and story-telling and in some words, by some pictures painted, we had a fairytale life.
And then, reality intruded. Or revealed itself, or they just became teenagers. Who knows. But...the sh** hit the fan, all h*** broke lose, our world collapsed -- you could use a thousand different oh-my-god phrases. But whatever phrase you choose, they all mean the same thing. And, I was swept away in its tide; life would never again be the same.
More than occasionally, I still grieve for the life which I had begun to build (have you noticed the conspicuous absence of the mention of their father here?). Do I wish that I'd done things differently in the beginning? No, yes. Do I think not eating sugar or wearing all cotton clothes had a lasting impact? No, yes. I know only one thing for certain; that it was the deep and intense love of those years which stewarded my children through what is to come; and in no small part is responsible for me being able to say, that so much as the story has not ended it has ended well. For all the horrors and darkness that I will share with you in the days to come, my children are kind, loving, thoughtful, talented young women in whom I have great confidence, and I am honored to witness the unfolding of their lives. A few of them eat "trash", all of them watch more TV than any human should watch, some of them yell at their kids, and one of them even votes the Republican ticket!(gasp). But they are all delightful in each their own way. And I want to share them with you over the next few days.
And, again, I beg your patience - for it does end well.
More to come. ~Lee
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