OUT OF PANDORAS BOX SOMETIMES POPS THE TRUTH

First off, count down over no Hermes bag for me. But this is one I did not want.

Because of yesterday’s blog I received emails from relatives I had not heard from or spoken to in forty odd years.

They are part of my grandmother’s sister’s family.
I had information wrong. Now I was quite amazed while I was remembering things that I remembered what I did, with my ginkoless 51-year-old brain.

Children remember in two ways, what they see and hear and what is told to them.

It is why it is so important when children see the truth that adults don’t deny them that experience. “Daddy drinks.” Oh no, he doesn’t.” But the kid is seeing daddy shit-faced and beating up his little brother. “Everything is fine.” Though the child knows this not to be true. Yet the parents, in the name of denial or they may think help, tell the child the exact opposite of the truth. All this does is cause a child to doubt their observations, doubt themselves and be deeply confused about what is truth and what is fiction. Children are meticulous Geiger counters; you cannot fool them, but they believe what their parents tell them up to a certain age. If the parent denies the child access to the truth they deny them access to their true feelings and this is really bad parenting 101.

I’m not accusing anyone of this at all – not in this instance.

But what appears to have happened in my past is, I was told, information that was not correct. I wasn’t witness to any of it so I had no way of knowing. I believed what I was told. So I walked around for decades with a version of the truth in my internal scrapbook that turns out to be far from it.

My Great Aunt Violet, my grandmother’s more ebullient sister was a caretaker. She in fact took care of her mother, in her home at the end of her mother’s life. I apologize to her family and her memory for blogging that she was not a caretaker. But for whatever reason and I think I may understand why I was told the reverse.

This is what happens when families are not in sync and at odds. Lore gets passed on in ways for years and people walk around not knowing the truth.

I was not around my Great Aunt Violet very much as she and my grandmother did not get on. That is a fact. I don’t know why.

I do know why I hit on it yesterday. It happens in most families; attributes are not handed out fairly from above and sometimes resentment and jealousy replace love and devotion.

Violet was much prettier than the others, she had a big personality, people liked her, she had tons of friends, her children from what I know today adored her, she had a very happy, long marriage. In the group of the four sisters (who soon became three; one died early in life) Violet was given the best hand in terms of just plain raw material to work with.

Now many people are and they squander it. She was a woman who clearly did not. She took the love, and the looks and the charm and made the most of it and clearly had a good life because of that. No life is perfect, but I think from the sounds of it she had a lot.

My grandmother was probably born insecure. She was attractive, but no beauty, she was awkward and as I said yesterday lacked a big personality. The whole family were victims of the depression, but so was everyone else then so you can’t chalk that up to anything out of the times. I do know my grandfather helped out the family when he made money. But that is what people did then, the ones who made helped the ones who lost. And my grandfather was no lucky duck, he was dirt poor and made himself into a success by hard work, really hard work.

But the three sisters who lived all went on to marry men who became successful in different ways.

My grandfather and Violet’s husband monetarily did the best. My Aunt Rose married a doctor in the army so Grandma had more money than she did and I think this made it so she could tolerate being around Rose as she felt a little superior, something she could not do with Violet. I’m not sure Rose cared; she was kind of a dame and called ‘em as she saw ‘em. I think she knew her sister for what she was and accepted her most of the time on her terms though they did fight a bit but what sisters don’t? My girls have at each other on a regular basis and I imagine always will. Lucy baits Taylor, and knows how to push her buttons. Taylor then gets big sister dominance and Lucy fights back and on it goes. It reaches a fever pitch usually in the car, over who gets the arm rest. Truth be told usually the French Bull Dog wins.

Because Grandma was closer to Rose I spent more time with them than Violet’s family, the Barkers. But there were no cousins for me there.

They had one childless son my mother’s age.

I do remember on the few occasions I was around the Barker family I liked them immensely. Violet and her husband were funny and warm and open and seemed to have a good time in life. Their family seemed cohesive and close, mine was not. I wanted to spend more time in that world; I did not get the chance.

Now having received two kind emails this morning it seems like more of a shame I was denied access to this part of my family. For a kid with such a teeny family it would have been fun.

I remember Violet’s husband Harvey Barker and thinking what a great guy he seemed to be. And I vaguely remember people saying “No one says a bad thing about Harvey.” “Everyone loves Harvey Barker.” I remember that. Not from my grandmother but others. Since my memory failed me yesterday I am more careful today. But I would put money on that one.

My grandfather was amazing to me and as I write this I see myself at the age of three in his arms, a big smile on both our faces – in a photo that sits on my desk. I brought out the soft side in him, but warm and fuzzy he was not. He was a tough lawyer, he fought the labor unions, he was fearless I think, except when it came to facing his wife’s emotional issues.
And then I remember my cousins, one of whom contacted me today and is a friend of my friend Lex, which is one degree of separation from Blake Snyder!

I spent a little time with them when I was young. My grandmother used to take me to fun places– Disneyland, lunches and fashion shows, and sometimes she would invite my cousins along. I adored that. I had relatives. I was closer to being a sitcom than I thought.

There was Karen and Lorraine, very close to me in age. Lorraine I remember with red hair, looking a bit like my Lucy, and being very bright and always with a book. Her sister had dark hair and in my memory looked like her mom.

And they were fun, the few times we got to go on outings. Then one day, the craziness of my grandmother took over, she said I could not see them anymore, their mother had a “disease” and “god forbid I might catch it.” What was it? She had no answer. It was breathing, always with the breathing in my family. Maybe it was sinus, we all had sinus problems in my family.

My father once said if I were lost in the forest they could find me by the trail of Kleenex.

But the way she talked about it, it made it sound like Valerie had the plague.

And according to Grandma she never recovered. So years of asking about the girls and wanting to see them were denied, because every time I asked, “Valerie still has the terrible disease.”

I know my mother just laughed reading that. If I can make her laugh in this blog when she doesn’t want to kill me that will be a good thing. If I can let her know there is more to us than exists in the present that will be a better thing. Much like Lucky Ducks perhaps this is now not about Taylor at all. Boy would that make her happy.

I used to do an imitation of Grandma saying “Poor Valerie, can’t get over the disease.”

It became a joke with us – but as I write it it’s not funny at all.

It was some form of manipulation on my grandmother’s part to control things.

I too was a part of her empire; the emperor may buy you new clothes but they will get to pick whom you wear them in front of.

So I never knew my cousins and they never knew me and until I publicly screwed up their families history, and unknowingly did not give their grandmother the credit she clearly deserves. I never heard from them and they never heard from me until today.

In a weird way I’m sorry I screwed it up – but not. It was benign and I can undo the damage and I got to hear from them.

Of course the story is there was no disease. But mom and I always knew that, which is why we laughed.

I think she had allergies or a sinus condition; my cousin just emailed me – it was asthma. We all have asthma, I have it, and Taylor has it. Blessedly, Valerie is alive and well, is in her mid 70’s and happily married still.

I also messed up chronology; my grandmother’s sister Rose who I accused of not attending her funeral was dead when Grandma died. Rose was younger so I assumed Grandma died first. But Rose was a heavy smoker and died of lung cancer. Rose’s husband Morrey was alive and he didn’t come, as he was upset that Grandma did not go to Rose’s. I didn’t go to Rose’s. I should have. How did that happen?

I liked Rose and Morrey. I really like Morrey; he was a doctor and served in World War II. Having been in the war gave him a skill set that allowed him to deal with our crazy family better than the original members.

I remember him being a sort of calming influence and being able to turn down the tempo when it got out of control.
I also remember when my grandfather died wanting to see the body, and Morrey took me by the hand and opened the casket for me to say good-bye. Having been a doctor in the war dead bodies were something he was all too familiar with. I should have been at Rose’s funeral, so should have Grandma, so should have my mother. Shit.

Love and money – love and money, family trauma so often all gets filed under those two headings.

I was told Grandma was unbalanced or unhappy because her mother preferred her younger sister. Like I said yesterday based on personality alone, unaware of the details one could understand why. But when you throw in that Rose also took her mother into her home and cared for her in her last years an helped with finances, it all makes sense.

Grandma had a big house and lots of money, why didn’t she take her mother in if she loved her so much? Maybe she couldn’t. I don’t know. Maybe Violet had first dibs. I think for a sick woman Violet’s happy house was a better place to be.

Okay, why did Grandma not go to her mother’s funeral and then blame so many of her issues on not getting what she felt was a fair share of her mother’s love?

These are questions I can’t answer. But they formed much of who my grandmother was and have a profound impact on who my mother eventually became and how our relationship ended up not being one.

Mothers daughters, money and love, and letting go. Letting go, the original subject of this blog.

Apparently my grandfather’s mother did not let him go. He was attached to her and his family and supported them, that I know. He also would apparently drop anything to drive to San Diego to see his mother. He loved his mother and his sister and brothers.

This apparently drove my grandmother crazy too. She would have been on the brink of crazy no matter what I fear.

I think she probably felt he loved his mother more than he loved her. And maybe he did. I think she went through life thinking everyone loved everyone more than they loved her.

Though when he was old and sick no one took better care of anyone than she did of him.

They fought like mad but grew into that old age love when illness becomes the controlling dynamic and needs are met in just the care and the attention one can provide. When Grandpa became sick Grandma had full an empire to control.

So, if Grandma had felt more loved would she have been less needy and controlling of my mother?

If they had had a healthier relationship would my mother have had a better role model on which to mother me?
Like I said yesterday, she was a good mother in many ways. But she was so locked into this goof-ball relationship with my grandmother I think it distorted much of the way she saw and continues to see things.

If Violet hadn’t been the girl with something extra would Grandma have felt better about herself?
If Grandpa hadn’t in her eyes loved his mother more, would that have helped?

If she had lived in the time of Lexapro and Xanax and Prozac and if she had owned a problem aside from belching would that have made a difference? YES!

That is today’s lesson – Grandma was born too early to get the meds she needed to ease the chaos of her soul.

This stuff goes so far back and travels so many years through so many beings, it’s really dominoes. Trying to keep them all in row much less standing is a lifetime of work.

So again, I apologize to the Barkers and the Foxes.

I wish I had gotten to spend more time with you.

I thank you for reaching out.

Though this proves as long as one is alive – it is never too late.

And next time I visit Grandma’s grave I’m going to leave her a Klonopin or two.

FRESHMAN MOM