When you lived with us, it nearly broke my sweet little family. Nobody had peace. We were walking on eggshells and living in a state of panic. It was hard and ugly to be trapped in the narcissistic merry-go-round of pitting people against each other that I left when I married. I did not know how to survive, and once it was clear that you were impacting my children the way you impacted us, it was immediately untenable. I could never separate from you for my own sake, but I could for theirs.
Worse, reaching my breaking point and asking you to move out betrayed my promise to him to take care of you and to protect you. I needed you out of my house, but not gone-gone. Oh, how I've wished you still lived in my town by the end of your life. I used to say that you deserved the child you were left with, the two of you are so alike. Instead, I was fully horrified that you were stuck without having someone close by who genuinely loves and cares for you. This will always be my most painful regret. The rest of us could not make up for from a distance what was not being provided in person. By the time we tried to get you away, it was too late. You died too quickly. For the second time in my life, the greatest kindness I could do for someone I loved was to pray that they would die quickly. I hate that I know how that feels, and what a relief it is when someone's suffering comes to an end.
Back to your move so far away. It took me some time and space, you remember, to come back around to a place where I could speak to you again: speak without the hurt, the rage, and the utter shock of having come to terms with who you are as a person. It raked at my heart and I couldn't understand the way that you could be so effusively friendly and loving to some, and so heinous and manipulative (always behind the scenes) with your own children.
Over the years, that is exactly what happened: I finally understood who you were, and why you were that way. I could appreciate the difficult life circumstances that brought you to this personality. I even empathize with the life you've led. It was almost like returning to the child and young adult you raised me to be - the defender, who took on anyone who dared face against you, but with the important caveat that I now realized you were not the perpetual victim you purported to be. I could accept your personality and your inability to change it, laid down and held boundaries for the first time in my entire life. Oh, how I thank God that we had the time we needed to come to a place of mutual love and understanding with one another!
I would see posts shared on social media by others (and, of course, by you) guilt/shaming the reader about difficult relationships.
"You will miss them when they die."
"You will regret not taking the time to make things right."
These posts always gave me a slight pang: I knew they were likely true. I couldn't reconcile within myself how a person can simultaneously protect themselves and also offer an all-in relationship with someone who causes them ongoing harm.
I am on the other side of those guilt trips now.
I understand the truth of how I can miss and love a complicated being, mingled with the regrets I have about our relationship. I miss you every minute of every day, even while being able to acknowledge that you were secretly a very tough and brutal person behind the scenes to your children. I can cry over the memories of our good times. I regret with burning sadness the way you felt alone. Indeed, I regretted that while you still lived, and this is exactly why I tried to maintain a healthier contact with you. We see the advice all the time to cut off all contact with a narcissist, and that is valid advice. In my heart of hearts, I never could follow it.
But I know something else, too. Forgiveness, for one. I forgave you long ago (that helped with the acceptance), but now I have to forgive myself - repeatedly. I smooth over my hurts and regrets by telling myself that it is okay to love a complicated person in the best way you know how.
I always thought before you died that perhaps these guilt-trip posts were unfair to injured parties. What about those people who cannot reconcile with the complicated people in their lives?
I have nothing but grace for them.
I could never, would never, tell a person that they have to reconcile just because somebody will die someday. Life *is* short - painfully so. That is, in fact, why I believe so strongly that the people who are holding themselves away from dangerous or harmful relationships are doing the right thing by themselves. It is not always up to us whether or not we get to reconcile every relationship. Indeed, sometimes only space can give a person the mental clarity they need to heal.
I think about your dad and how, after he died, you felt sad but ultimately free. You told us that you and he were squared away now: there were no wrongs left between you. I was confused by and yet admired that outlook at the time.
I can still appreciate that outlook today. I am in the process of releasing unhealthy relationships, myself. Not out of anger, bitterness, or spite but with the exact opposite intention. I do not want to be in constant turmoil, and I also do not want the 'unhealed' version of myself to cause permanent damage. Stepping back is not stepping away, but when contact is too much to bear... must I really?
This is new for me, and hard, but the instant peace and stillness in my mind and heart have taught me a lesson. I was hurting far more than I even realized, though I felt well-aware.
I hope that the Lord is gracious to us, as we strive to love and forgive in ways that do not perpetuate harm. Healing happens faster when a wound isn't still festering. I wholeheartedly believe this.
I'm so very sorry, Mom. I wish that I had found a way to be more helpful to you as you suffered those final months of your life. I wish you had found a job and apartment to suit you nearby so that we didn't have the intense stretch of miles between us once we reached our equilibrium.
We are at peace, you and I, but I shall continue to miss you tremendously. You weren't a perfect parent, but you were my parent, and I ultimately respected that fact. I pray you have the peace up there you never quite found down here. <3
