BPD Mother and the Death of a Grandparent

My very elderly grandfather (on my birth father's side) recently died. I didn't get to know my grandfather due to many extenuating circumstances. I would have liked our relationship to be different, but these are the cards that were dealt, and I accept the circumstances surrounding my past. Certainly I am responsible for me and for my life; however, when I was brought into the world, I had no decision with the choices that were made which laid the foundation for my future.

Back when I was a newborn, my mother cheated on my birth father with her high school sweetheart (who became her 2nd of 3 husbands; the man whom I call 'Dad'), divorced my birth father, changed my birth certificate with adoption, and literally cut my birth father / family out of my baby album. My paternal grandparents were told they would never see me again and were given the opportunity to say their final 'goodbye' to me. Thereafter, my paternal grandparents didn't try maintain a relationship with me, but rather accepted what my BPD mother demanded and walked away.

Then my mother cheated on my Dad with his best friend (late 1970's / early 1980's), and a tumultuous divorce followed (You Dropped a Bomb on Me).  When I was 13 years old I had visitation with my mother, and out of the blue, she says to me, "I know how to get a hold of your birth father. Would you like to speak to him?" I was taken back by the revelation but curious. I remember entertaining the notion, and we did speak to him for a short phone call. Little did I know, my mother used this information -- that I was in touch with my birth father-- to hurt my Dad during the divorce proceedings. She passive-aggressively leaked the information, making sure he found out. And I didn't find out until recently how much that hurt my Dad.

When I was an older teenager, she again pushed the idea of communicating with my birth father. I feel like she was trying to 'right her wrong' (taking his baby from him and and abruptly leaving him the way she did) by getting me back in touch and trying to hurt my Dad even more. But I was very hesitant about bringing my birth father and his family into my life. My life had already been very confusing and tumultuous with my parents divorcing and remarrying into ready-made families within 2-years. I was still getting used to having divorced parents living in separate locations, step brothers and sisters, as well as new stepparents. I felt pull in many different directions, and the adjustments were tough.

During a long road-trip, I got a terrible case of food poisoning. I was very ill on the drive home as well, but my mother insisted that we drive by where my birth father lives. In the dark of the night, I met him and his family (including my paternal grandparents) at a McDonald's. Remember how much I have used the word 'bizarre' in my blog posts? Well this meeting epitomizes bizarre. I didn't have much to say, and I was like an animal on display at the zoo. After eating some burgers, we got back in the car and were on our way again. I didn't see any of them again for almost 10 years.

However, when my mother and I had an estrangement when I went off to college (she claimed that I didn't love her because I came into town and didn't call her: Out of the Nest), she proceeded to call my birth father and his family and tell them all kinds of crazy things about me. She told them outright lies, very awful things. Why in the world would a loving, caring, and supportive mother do this type of thing to her child!? The answer is: campaigns of denigration are a hallmark of BPD. The intent is to destroy my reputation and thereby destroying my relationships with family and friends, and others. The campaign employs lies, exaggerations, fictions, partial truths, and other reality distortion techniques. Again, I think that my mother was trying to 'right her wrong' (keeping me away from them when I was a baby / child) by making me out to be this horrible person they never would have wanted to be around anyway. Also 'demonizing' me helped her to accept the estrangement as well and to displace accountability for her actions.

Through independent efforts, I met my grandparents a handful of times through the decades (a couple in my 20's and a couple in my 30's), but we never had a connection.  The attempts were one sided as I traveled 500 miles round trip from time-to-time to visit. Although we didn't form a connection, I wish things were different. I accept how things are and how the cards are dealt including the outcome of my BPD mother's pathology.

Looking back at my life, my mother created my path by meddling in my life, taking away my birth father, having me adopted, removing all evidence of my birth father (creating the deception), trying to push my Dad and me apart by bringing my birth father back into the picture, and continually trying to discredit my Dad and my relationship to the present day. Each move she made, she affected my life by trying to alienate me. She seemed to try to position herself as the only family member in my life, to create a dependence on her, and to attempt to guarantee loyalty so that she isn't rejected or abandoned.

With the passing of my last grandparent, I have been thinking of the impact my mother's BPD has had on my life from the time I was born. Ultimately, however, she failed to keep herself honorable in my life as she has lost credibility, trust, and love through her ruthlessness, conditions, and bizarre nature of her moves. She did manage to affect my relationship with my Dad-- and of course affect my relationship with my birth father by removing him from my life as an infant. And how, even now after almost 10-years of estrangement, she is still dangerous and destructive.

Bottom line, I am very thankful that my mother was eliminated from my life LONG before my child entered this world. My wish is that my child never have to endure the destruction, wrath, confusion, manipulation, and hurt that a BPD can cause, namely from her BPD grandmother. And I also pray that my grandfather rests in peace. Although I never got to truly know him, my heart is heavy with the news of his passing.

Childhood Insomnia Resulting from Stress

 

Growing up in an environment with a borderline personality mother and a malignantly narcissistic Dad compounded by a period of simultaneous major-life-stessors (moving, death of grandmother, death of grandfather, parental divorce, parents remarrying), I developed several symptoms of stress. Insomnia was one of the resulting symptoms, which when your sense of safety and trust are shattered, having difficulty falling asleep is a normal reaction to abnormal events.

Part of the stressful environment was my very controlling BPD mother. She controlled what we wore: picking up and purchasing our clothing (not giving us a say) as well a laying out our clothes on the bed every day. She controlled what we ate and having us clean our plates or sit at the table until we did. A couple of times, I vomited in my food, only to be given more. She controlled our bathing, even washing our hair at the kitchen sink until we were middle school age which became very embarrassing when friends dropped by-- lying on the counter with my head in the sink and my mother scrubbing my head. She even controlled our bed time and awake time with early bed times and late awake times.And once we were put to bed, we were to remain in our rooms until a set time.

I developed insomnia around 9 years old; however, up to that age, I had years of being put to bed so early that I would stand at my window and watch the children play outside ... and then sit in bed and sing to entertain myself. I remember hearing my mother and Dad watch TV, and I could smell the aroma of freshly popped popcorn wind its way through my room. I also can remember hearing them go to bed and thinking I should be asleep by now. My bed-time didn't have anything to do with my schedule, sleep requirements, or body clock. My bed-time was based on the need for my parents to have alone time from the kids.

My awake-time also didn't have anything to do with my schedule, sleep requirements, or body clock. I woke earlier than my mother allowed my brother and me out of our rooms, so I would sit in my bed and count pennies, listen to the am-radio, or use my hands as puppets. All of our toys and books were in the play-room so we didn't have those things to occupy us . My brother would be awake in his room, and I would be awake in my room, and we were not allowed to play with each other. So we waited for the time we were allowed to leave our bedrooms. I had a small clock to keep an eye on the time so I knew when we were allowed out of our rooms.

At times, my mother refused to get out of bed and she would lock herself in her room. She would stay all day  in that dark room. During these times, my Dad would take care of us in between going to work. He would call from work to make sure that my mother got out of bed after he left us in the play-room while she was still sleeping.

From 1976 to 1977, I said goodbye to my friends when we moved to a new home in a new school district. I started new a new and shortly thereafter I lost my grandmother to a stroke. My mother had become very angry and lashed out at us. Notably that Easter, we were told we were ungrateful and selfish because we were upset that Easter bunny didn't come when she was still mourning the loss of her mother a month earlier. She tossed Easter tee-shirts at us as we stood in the dining room. My childhood ended at this point, and I knew my world had completely changed.

After my grandmother's death, my grandfather lived with us, and my mother was very cruel to him. Ultimately she kicked him out of our house for very petty incidents (crumbs on the counter, urinating on the toilet seat) and wrote him a scathing and scarring letter. She used my brother and me to hurt him more by not allowing us to mail him letters after he moved. I felt tremendous guilt about this. A year later he died, my mother had an affair with my Dad's best friend, and my parents divorced. The divorce was nasty, traumatic for us kids, and lengthy. Safety and trust had been shattered...

Now back to the onset of insomnia: I can remember the EXACT night that the insomnia started in 1977 when I was 9 years old. Most anxious children do not have a specific event that triggered their anxiety, but some do. Certainly some situations can be anxiety producing, especially those that disrupt the child's sense of structure and order in their world (parental divorce, deaths in the family, trauma, moves) WorryWiseKids.org

We had moved to the new house, I had started the new school, and my grandmother had died. One night my parents said goodnight to me as usual, and I didn't fall asleep. I started to feel sweaty and clammy. I heard the AC turn on ... and then off ... and then it come back on ... and then it turned back off... clearly communicating to me the passing of time. Then I could hear my parents walk past my bedroom to go to bed. The lights went off in the hallway and the house was quiet. Time kept passing and I didn't fall asleep. I started to get anxiety ridden and I cried hoping that one of my parents would come check on me-- but neither did. I called out for my parents.

What resulted from here was a long period of time where I didn't sleep. But what was worse than not sleeping was the dread from the moment I woke-up until the the next bed-time: the dread of having to go back to sleep and that frightening, traumatic, horrifying, anxiety-ridden feeling of being lonely, alone, and helpless to insomnia. I can't even describe the nauseating, deep-pitted, empty feeling when I couldn't sleep. I felt like I was the only child / person in the world that experienced this problem-- like I was the only person in the whole world that was wide awake in the middle of the dark and quiet night. I had no idea that other people have the same experience. 

  

Interestingly, I didn't feel sleep deprived. I wasn't sleepy during the day. I only had increasing anxiety about sleep. One night, our parents took us to meet Darth Vader at a local mall, and I was only fixated on the impending doom of bedtime. I also remember getting a doll as a gift and only associating the toy to the dreadful insomnia I was experiencing. I remember playing with friends during the day-time and only thinking of the terribly long night I just endured and the next night quickly approaching that I would have to endure again.

My parents didn't talk about the insomnia. My parents offered little comfort when I was upset and crying during the night. In fact, my mother didn't come to my room after the first night... my Dad did. And he really didn't have much to say other than he has to get up early in the morning for work. He suggested the counting sheep and playing a baseball game in my head ... and later he got permission from my mother to allow me to turn on the bedroom light and read Reader's Digest Condensed books (not any other book was allowed). I read through these books at lightning speed as I was up most nights to 4am and distinctively remember reading the series about Emily Pollifax.

Could the insomnia have been avoided? I believe so. If my parents had been more aware and subsequently more communicative and supportive about the changes in our family life (the move, leaving friends, changing of schools, death), I think some of the stress could have been eliminated. The way my family dealt with stress was to go to a movie (basically, to "deep six" the situation and not talk about it). But how could my parents have been more communicative and supportive about the changes in our family life when they are self-absorbed? And how could they have been more communicative and supportive about stress that they caused or contributed to? For example, if my mother had handled the death of her mother differently, acceptance of her passing would have been easier.  Rather than hiding in a dark room sedated, she could have set a different climate. Instead of attending a funeral for my grandmother, we were subjected to my mother's anger directed to my grandfather. 

And if the insomnia wasn't avoided, I think I could have worked through the sleepless nights with guidance from my parents. Perhaps I would have had a few sleepless nights but with having the comfort of alternatives (ie: watching TV, playing with toys, drawing and writing) and the comfort of knowing others have insomnia too, I would have been able to more effectively deal with the insomnia. Instead of feeling alone with parents ignoring my cries and calls and instead of my parents being angry at me for keeping them awake, I could have felt supported with the love of my parents.

I researched insomnia with children and found some wonderfully supportive parents on message boards. I love this mother's response to a mother who has a 9 year old with insomnia:  

My son has always been a difficult sleeper. We allow him to read in bed with a reading light so he doesn't keep his younger brother awake. I snuggle with him for at least 10 minutes and during this time we talk about his day and settle ourselves. When he was younger we used to do a breathing exercise to calm and focus him, nothing fancy just deep breathing in and out. From my experience having a set ritual each night is helpful. One thing we've done that's worked as well is having him listen to music with headphones. Keeping the room as dark as possible is also good with a light he can control like an LED reading light so he can either read or use it as a night light. Sometimes I also put him in a warm bath before bed or encourage him to take a shower.

Try to create an atmosphere of calm, when bed time becomes anxiety producing there is no way to sleep. And be sure to explain to him that there is nothing wrong with him, some people just have trouble falling asleep or staying asleep. I came to the conclusion years ago that I just need less sleep than other people, my son is the same way. Lately things have been better, he's asleep pretty consistently by 10pm, but these things go in cycles. It sounds like this lack of sleep is distressing to him so I would avoid having him lay in bed waiting to fall asleep, that was always the worst for me as a kid and exacerbated my anxiety about sleep. 

Amen! Bravo! Oh how I wish I had parents that were thoughtful, patient, and flexible like this mother. Obviously my parents were not deficient simply with handling my insomnia. Insomnia was just a small part of the whole-- the whole being a childhood filled with dysfunction, toxicity, confusion, conditional love, and impatience that my parents created. 

Although the insomnia subsided, for decades I have carried that horrible sick feeling of being alone in a forever-long night. If my child ever develops an issue with sleeping (or any other for that matter), I will be completely supportive, understanding, and patient. I have been very comforting with my child during times of sleep pattern changes through the years, still feeling the effects of not having my parents' reassurance (security and safety) through childhood. To this day, my parents have no idea (nor do they care) how terrible that insomnia experience was to me... and how to this day, I can feel the after-effects.

Grandmother's Death | The Defining Moment

If there is one moment in my life that defines all the rest, a moment that changed the path of my life forever, and a moment that is pinnacle to my family's history, that moment is the death of my Grandmother-- the passing of her life. Today is the anniversary of my Grandmother's death, and although it's been 32 years, the news seems like it was delivered yesterday.

Before writing about her death, I want to write about her. She was the anchor that held the family together. She was a the strength and the glue that tied us all together. I remember her only from a child's perspective, but my Grandmother was one tough cookie. She was a loving, devoted, and loyal wife, a cherished mother, and an honored grandmother. She was a role model and a lady like Audrey Hepburn was a lady-- with impeccable taste, manicured style, and perfect manners.

With her death came the demise of my Grandfather who worshiped the ground she on which she walked. They had deep and affectionate relationship, and that love shone through to the end. My Grandfather was a lost soul without her on Earth with him, and although he struggled to continue with life, he wasn't the same. He joined her in heaven a little more than 19 months later.

With my Grandmother's death, my mother became unleashed. Her personality warped further into the dark abyss of her disorder. She inflicted her wrath onto my Grandfather, further spiraling him into depression, and, in my opinion, ultimately leading to his death. My mother further unleashed her wrath onto my immediate family-- cheating on my Dad with his friend and putting the family through a relentless divorce and emotional turmoil that lasted for years and years.

With my Grandmother's death, my brother and I never had another 'normal' holiday. We never had another experience with our Grandparents. We never had her unconditional, loyal, and devoted love that she lavished on us-- the type of love that my mother never truly showed us. My brother and I started on a journey with our parents, without my Grandparents' shield, that was riddled with criticism, judgment, confusion, mental & emotional abuse, and scars that would last a lifetime.

So this moment, the coming of the end of my Grandmother's life, is a moment that is pinnacle, life changing, and defining for my life. I can clearly reflect on how that specific moment in time changed the course of history for not only me, but also my intermediate family. Not only was the loss was profound, but the effect of the loss itself was profound. I have not had another moment that is so influential, intense, and impacting except the birth of my child.

And with my Grandmother's death, I experienced the feeling of deep loss-- a loss that I still feel to this day. I will always remember her style, I will always remember her laugh, I will always remember her cooking, and I will always remember her hugs. She touched my heart, and I am so blessed to have known her. How lucky I am to have known someone who was so hard to say goodbye to. I love you Grandma.

In Through the Out Door (1997 - 1999)

I guess you can figure out what happened next. Now that my mother and I were estranged, my Dad and I started up our relationship again. I went for a visit in 1997 at his house and was struck by how the years hadn't been kind to him. He had aged, but he was still the same Dad-- loud, controlling, and conditional. He still had some sort of power over me, where I had a hard time standing up for myself, I allowed him to interrupt me when I was talking, accepted that he never asked about what was going on in my life, and treated me like I wasn't there at times. See subsequent posts: My Dad, the Narcissistic King and What Makes my Narcissistic Dad Tick. Other times, he seemed like he was happy that I was with him, and at those times, I was thrilled. I have always wanted my Daddy back-- the one before he met & married my step-mother. He changed after he met her. He changed, and he changed for good. It was just hard to accept.

I was working in a much better environment now, and I was enjoying life again. I was deeply conflicted about my mother, and I spent time trying to talk out the situation with friends. "Children of borderlines search for validation, for others who might confirm their reality" p 157 Lawson. Knowing only the basics of the workings of my mother and my relationship, however, didn't do the analysis any justice, so only a few select friends were able to actually give valuable and insightful advice. The situation with my mother and Dad was so convoluted, toxic, and in depth, that any isolated incident didn't capture the true nature of the dysfunction, so at times, painstaking effort had to be made to create the proper background before getting started with the issue at hand, such as I miss my mother, so should I try to make the relationship work; or what part of what happened my fault; or is my mother out of her mind?

I would try to talk to my Dad but he flat out told me, "If your mother died tomorrow, I wouldn't shed a tear". How compassionate!?!? How supportive!?!?! My goodness, how harsh! He also said, "I divorced that lady 17 years ago, and I want to leave it that way. She's out of my life". Again, what a terrible thing to say to your child, who still has this person as his / her mother. See subsequent post: Adult Children of Parental Alienation Syndrome.

Trying to get any knowledge or understand from him was a big fat dead-end, which was AND IS a shame as he could help to heal wounds and give his children some peace of mind. Instead, he perpetuates the confusion, emptiness, and feelings of loss. Just as my mother feels that one's childhood has very little to do with one's success or failure in life, my Dad thinks all the events from the past should be deep-sixed. Neither parent's viewpoint helps the child who has been searching for answers and understanding. Neither parent, also, wants to claim any responsibility for the rubble left from the divorce bomb and the premature remarriages with ready made families.

My Dad's mother passed away from lung cancer in 1999. My Dad flew my brother out to the funeral but didn't offer to fly me out. I didn't understand why I wasn't offered, but I couldn't afford the flight across country compounded by missing work, so I sadly was unable to attend the funeral with my Dad and brother.

During some of the visits in 1999, my Dad would pull me aside and slip some money into my pocket. He would say, "Keep this quiet, this is between you and me". The sums of money were rather large: $500 here, $1000 there. Years later I found out through my brother that my grandmother (Dad's mother) had left all the grandchildren money, and lo & behold, that money my Dad was slipping me under the pretense it was from him, was from my GRANDMOTHER. Remember how he had me sign over my inheritance from my great-grandmother back in the early 1980's!? Here we go again. The trust factor is zilch with my Dad, but the hopes of having a trusting relationship, of having him accept me, of having him love me were high. Why!?

So, Mother's Day 1999 rolls around, and my brother and I were talking. We decided that we'd give our mother a call, out of the blue, and see what happens. He hadn't talked to her in 9 year, and it had been 3 for me. He called her first, and after they spoke, he called me to report all went smoothly-- almost like nothing had ever happened. My mother and I spoke after that, and sure enough, all was like nothing had happened.

My mother and I visited, and then we started to hang-out again on Monday nights. Her illness was progressing, and she was on high levels of steroids and other medications (placquinil for example). By July she ended up in the hospital for a pulmonary embolism. The condition was serious, and she wanted to see my brother, so I flew him down, got him from the airport, and had him stay with me.

I had to work during this time (4pm- 4am) so trying to get him to the hospital and back to my house before I had to be at work was quite the feat. My mother could have loaned him her car while she was in the hospital to make matters easier, but she wanted him to spend the night in the hospital with her. He didn't feel comfortable with that, and I don't blame him (it had been 9 years since they had seen each other and only a few months into the reconciliation). I went out of my way with friends picking him up and taking him around as my mother and step-father didn't offer up any assistance.

My brother's stay was WONDERFUL for me. I had the BEST time seeing him (we had visited the year before up his way), and we made some long-lasting and precious memories. He saw my mother in the hospital when we could get him there (the distance between my job and home and the hospital were all scattered and far), and she seemed happy.

To my surprise when I was at work, I got an abrupt and angry call from my Dad. He drilled me about my brother, his whereabouts, and what he was up to. I didn't want to get in the middle of anything, and since I didn't know what he had told our Dad about his visit, I didn't want to say anything at all. I continued to tell my Dad to talk to my brother and ask him the questions. My Dad didn't like my responses at all, and eventually I was able to get off the phone because I was at work. My Dad ultimately was angry with my brother for coming into town and not spending time with him, but my brother explained the circumstances for the visit. Our Dad didn't understand, but my brother had a good visit anyway.

Once my brother was back at home, my mother voiced her disappointment with my brother not spending the night in the hospital and how she was upset that he didn't spend longer time periods with her. I explained that some of the issues were with logistics while some had to do with feeling comfortable with the situation (after all they were just getting to know each other again). She was very harsh with her opinions and was rather angry at the outcome. I expressed to her that she was expecting too much too soon and to be happy that she saw him. I was also surprised to hear how unsatisfied she was with the visit-- AND the fact that she didn't acknowledge how difficult the time was for me, worrying about her health while trying to work & accommodate the trips to the hospital. All the times that are like this, where she's lashing out at my brother or my step-father, I am always wondering when it will be me... when is it my turn to be the whipping post?

That Thanksgiving and Christmas, I was back to the juggling of holidays again-- trying to see both sets of parents, trying not to disappoint anyone, and trying to appease all. Which of course, all the efforts meant I didn't enjoy my holidays. I was happy, however, that I had a job that required me to work holidays because I could always fall back on that I had to work.

Here We Go Again (1996)

I had such a hard year in 1996. I was working over 100 hours a week at times, and my social life was taking a toll because of it. I was offered a higher paying position half way across the country which would have been excellent move for my career. When I talked to my mother about this, the guilt trip spewed out of her mouth like diarrhea. Phrases such as 'how could you think of moving when your mother is so sick', 'you can't leave me', 'you would actually think of leaving when your mother is going through such a hard time?'. “The other person feels held back, dragged down, or pulled under, in response to the borderline’s message: ‘Don’t leave me.’ Borderlines can self-destruct as a result of their fear of abandonment and often use emotional blackmail to control others. Understandably, children of borderlines struggle to manage feelings of shame, guilt, anxiety, and rage” p 15 Lawson. I couldn't deal with the guilt and being the loyal daughter, I turned down the opportunity. And because I was limited to positions only in the vicinity of my mother, my career growth was drastically hindered.

When I would talk about my exhaustion from the hours I was putting in or the horrible work conditions I endured, my mother would simply say that's what you have to do. If I talked of changing jobs, she would state that running away from the position is not what I should do. She insisted that I should 'stick it out' and that things would turn around. No matter how tough my circumstances, she wouldn't offer any bit of support or encouragement-- just words that made me feel as if I was being a wimp for complaining.

In May of 1996, my great-grandmother passed away. My mother always claimed to be so close to her. My mother martyred herself, claiming that she did so much for her grandmother. My mother talked a big talk but when it came down to it, she didn't go to the funeral of her 104 year old grandmother. She insisted that I go, that I represent the family and sit by the casket, greeting family members. I was completely baffled as to why she didn't want to go. So, off I went to the funeral with my step-father. Getting the time off from my job was close to impossible, but I managed. The funeral was heart-warming and comforting to know that my great-grandmother had planned every last detail. Seeing family members from all over the country was comforting as well. But, I never did understand and never did accept that my mother decided not to go. This action truly shed some serious light on my mother's personality.

During these last two years my mother was taking out everything on my step-father, and honestly I was relieved it wasn't me. She verbally abused him. She talked about him like a dog. She was so rude to him and so hard on him. My step-father is the "Fisherman" who "relinquishes his will to the Witch" p 195 Lawson. The Fisherman is too insecure (in his relationship in this case) to stand up for himself. He even said that he didn't want to endure the lashing he would get if he tried to discuss these issues with her. "Although the Fisherman lives in fear of his wife, he also fears living without her. The Witch meets the emotional needs of the Fisherman who, without her, would feel lost" p 196 Lawson. Anyway, I shouldn't have counted on her isolating her abuse to just her husband. In an earlier post, I mentioned how my mother and I never talked about my Dad because he was such a sore subject, and she would turn into a different person if the topic were approached.

One day I was on the phone with her (in December of 1996) when the doorbell rang. The UPS man handed me a package, and as I opened it, I innocently described the contents. Strangely enough, my Dad had sent me some things he thought I might have as he moved to his new house. I hadn't talked to him for over two years so this package was surprise. My mother instantly started to get more and more intense. The contents were actually dishes from a mutual friend of theirs who passed away back in the early 1980's. During the divorce, this friend had taken my Dad's side, which infuriated my mother. At any rate, when she passed away, my Dad apparently ended up with her dishes, and when he moved over a decade later, he thought I'd like to have them, along with some other possessions of hers.

My mother FLIPPED out. She thought my Dad was being manipulative. She couldn't believe the audacity of him sending me these dishes. She was appalled that he would send me these things. All the time, I kept asking her if she was serious. I couldn't believe how emotional she got over me receiving DISHES in the mail, from a friend who had died over a decade ago, sent by my Dad who I hadn't talked to in over two years. My mother continued on her raging rampage, and I ended up saying that she needed to let all the hate and anger leave, that the divorce was over 16 years ago. That was the point where she turned all the anger at me, told me that I had no idea what I was talking about, and said that she couldn't believe that I was defending my Dad after all he did to me and to her. She also said that she was glad that my last name is Smith (remember when she said that to me in 1983!?) and hung up on me. See subsequent blog post: Adult Children of Parental Alienation Syndrome

A few days later, I called to wish my step-father a Happy Birthday from work. We were talking some small talk when my mother took the phone from him. She told me I was a bitch and hung the phone up. We didn't talk again for years.

Fly to the Angels (1977 - 1978)

Visiting my mother's grandparents was the light of my life. My brother and I had so much fun with them, we experienced what it's like to be loved unconditionally, and we felt very relaxed with them. We spent our holidays with them, went to their house on weekends, and had other visits with them, as they were only a two hour drive away.

I distinctly remember ALWAYS getting choked up and crying when leaving their house. I would ALWAYS try to hide the fact that I was crying (I was 9 years or younger), but at times, my boo-hooing wasn't able to be hidden (see subsequent blog entry about this: Feeling Like I Don't Belong to a Family). I questioned my Dad years later as to why I had such a difficult time saying goodbye, and his response was that I was so happy with them that I didn't want to go back to the other life-- the life with my mother, where she was emotionally void, controlling, and unhappy.

My grandfather thought I hung the moon. He never wanted to tell me 'no' and spoiled me with attention. I loved him just the same. My grandmother sewed me clothes, danced in the living room with me, and baked us yummy cookies. She was part of my heart. I absolutely adored my grandparents.

I received a letter from my grandmother at the beginning of 1977 which told me about the bad weather they were having, how she fell, and how she had been battling some bad headaches. I didn't know the extent of these headaches, but apparently, the headaches were debilitating, and she sought relief. Unfortunately she sought help in the wrong place, as the chiropractor she went to didn't refer her to a neurologist, and instead, kept telling her she needed to be 'adjusted'. As a result, she blew a huge aneurysm and had a stroke. She was in the hospital for weeks. She kept asking to see me but I was too young to go up on the floor where she was. By the time the staff agreed to sneak me up to see her, my grandmother passed away from a cardiac arrest at the young age of 59.

My grandfather was distraught. He was a man who lived by his woman, who needed his woman's support, and loved her to the deepest part of his soul. They had an intense love affair, and the thought of living life without her tore him up. You could see the air had been completely let out of him, and a deflated shell was left.

My mother was hysterical over the death of her mother. She resorted to staying in her dark room at the back of the house and took Valium that was given to her by a doctor friend of the family (more about him later). My mother was not compassionate, empathic, sympathetic, or loving to her father / my grandfather. In fact, she was very hard on him and pushed him further into depression. I realize people deal with death and loss differently, and each has his or her own way of expression; however, this to me, is the first indication of something not being "right" about my mother. My grandmother's death also marks awareness of something not being "right" about my Dad too, but not to the same extent.

My grandfather was so distraught over the loss of his wife that he couldn't bear to deal with the house or its possessions. So he took what he needed and a few things he couldn't live without, and moved across the country. My mother was then able to go and take what she wanted from the house before it was put up for auction. This time period was very surreal and dark for me. I couldn't fathom my grandmother being gone, I was crushed to see my grandfather so upset (this is a big, strong man who is now a shell of who he was), and I was confused to my mother's reaction and distance she created between herself & me (and my brother too).

When we went out to my grandparents' house with a U-Haul, my brother and I were allowed to select a few things to take with us. Additionally, my Dad put a limit on to how many trips and how much stuff my mother could take. My mother apparently (I don't recall this; she told me) was very upset about my Dad controlling how much she could take. We took several trips up to the house and said 'goodbye' to my grandmother.

That summer, my grandfather came for a long visit. During this time, my mother became increasingly hostile to him. She picked on everything he did. She belittled the grieving man. She was very cold to him. I didn't understand where this was coming from (nor do I now other than what I have discovered about her personality disorder), and the situation broke my little 10 year old heart.

Eventually the situation escalated to my mother kicking my grandfather out of the house for peeing on the toilet seat and leaving crumbs on the counter. She also wrote him a scathing letter, telling him horrible things (he's s filthy pig for example) and that he can't see his grandchildren anymore (ever). My grandfather spiraled further into depression and entered therapy.

I was not allowed to answer his letters. My mother held onto the letters and wouldn't mail them. I felt so terrible that I couldn't let my grandfather know how much I loved him and cared for him. And even more terrible, he died that early fall, (1 year and 7 months after my grandmother's death), leaving me with deep seated guilt that he left this world without me answering his letters. I prayed that he knew what my mother was doing. As a side note here, I have a guardian angel, and he has looked over me my entire life. My guardian angel knows the truth. My guardian angel is my grandfather.

I will mention again, that during this time, my mother was obtaining Valium from a family friend. This family friend coached sports with my Dad. They were very close friends; in fact, our families were close. So close that we took vacations together, went to the lake together, and did a great deal together several times a week. I never saw anything abnormal about any of the relationships but this will soon change.

During this time, I developed insomnia. I remember the exact day that I stopped sleeping normally. I was acutely aware that I wasn't falling asleep. I tried but I couldn't. Having a controlling mother, I wasn't allowed out of my bed once put there at bed time, so I stared at the dark walls, counted how many times the air conditioner came on & turned off, counted sheep... and cried. My Dad was always the one to come in to comfort me. And eventually I was allowed to turn on the light and read a book. My days were consumed with the thought of having to go back to bed and experiencing another endless night trying to go to sleep. This bout with insomnia left a lasting impression on me that I carry to this day. The nights were frightening, the feeling of being completely alone and lonesome was overwhelming, and the lack of true parental compassion, safety, and love were disturbing.

I had no idea at the time why I was having trouble sleeping, but it's clearly obvious now. My life had been through some very stressful changes all at one time, and more changes were to come (which you could feel it at the time). Not only was I staying up late not being able to sleep, but my mother would stay up until all hours reading medical books. HUGE medical books. Yes, huge medical books with giant, detailed diagrams. At the time, I didn't make the connection, but our family friend is a medical person. He worked at a local hospital, and at times, my mother would take my brother and me to the local hospital's teaching college to walk around-- she would express how she really wanted to go back to school, and she wanted to go there. My mother also was going on errands and going out when, in the past, she didn't do this.

Well, the day came, less than a year after my grandfather passed, that my mother pulled my brother and me into the kitchen. My Dad was out mowing the yard. At this time, the bomb was dropped. The eternally destructive, the bomb of all bombs to mess with a young child's mind, the bomb that would gain momentum and never stop...