I have a love/hate relationship with self-help/personal-growth books… On the one hand it is helpful and gratifying to know that it is possible to make it through the darkness and thrive on the other side of it all… on the other none of them really give you the view from the pit. It’s ugly here and no-one wants to look at it. Many of them give the briefest of descriptions of the ‘dark days’ and then focus on their steps/ideas/practices that got them out of the mess they were in. I want to see the pit… did life feel as despairing & hopeless to them as it does to me most days? Were they breathing in and out through lungs filled with un-heard screams? Was the pit every bit as deep and dark and ugly as it feels to me today? I would like to know the view from the pit… Then I can feel better about my chances of making it out alive.
Tag Archive: grandmother
I sometimes wonder why I struggle so much…. some days it seems like every part of my life is a struggle. I struggle to perform perfectly at work, I struggle to “get it right” all the time… no matter whether “IT” is making dinner, cleaning house, serving customers at work, being a supportive friend a good wife… I think I just have all these ideas in my head about what I am supposed to be…about who I am supposed to be and how I am supposed to act. Some days I look around and all I see are the things I need to do… I need to organize our house, put away our books, buy/build more bookshelves, clean our carpets, clean our rooms, catch up on all the laundry, work on my crafts for Christmas, finish with our Christmas Gifts…. My thoughts race and race… I think I need a few weeks to just catch up … no distractions… no excuses… no interruptions… 
I went back to my home-town not too long ago. There is a church there called Hopewell Baptist Church that is very old and no longer active – but the families of the original congregation still get together once a year and celebrate home-coming. Since I am a bit estranged from my family I chose to go at a time when I knew it would be abandoned. There is a cemetery there where some of my family is buried. I love to walk among the graves and touch the tombstones and commune with the people I miss so much.

The person I miss the most is my grandmother. Ever since she died I have felt like a part of my heart is missing. She was the one person who always saw me. She never made me feel invisible or inconvenient. She always made me feel special and seen and heard. She did not know all of the horrible things I was going through and scarcely a day goes by that I don’t wish I could have told her. I wish I could sit down with her now with a cup of tea and tell her all about it. I love her and I miss her so very much.
I am fascinated by how people choose to remember their loved ones… I saw these while walking on a boardwalk at Falling Creek Falls…
Seeing these made me wonder how I could honor and remember… and I decided to let my photographs speak for themselves… I hope you enjoy them – there is nothing that I could say about them without sounding trite… these photos are my memorial… Friends of Hopewell, I pray you feel my deep love and kinship in these photos… my thoughts are with you…
My grandmother is fiercely loyal to her favorite son. For reasons no one really knows she worships the ground he walks on. It is not unlike a cult, with Eddie the proclaimed prophet or savior. I will never understand where this unhealthy devotion comes from. Growing up in this family of 8 children, Eddie was the one who could do no wrong. He molested some and possibly all of his 5 sisters. When they came and told their mother, she told all of the children to keep it a secret and not tell their father. She was worried that if her husband found out he would kick Eddie out of the house. She was more willing to sacrifice all 5 of her daughters to this man than to save her daughters and put him away where he belonged.
Later, after the children grew up and some had girls of their own, the entire family gladly left their daughters alone with this man knowing full well what he was capable of. It was more important to save this “good man” this “man of God” than to be sure their children were safe. It was more important to preserve a reputation than any of the girl’s innocence. We were all disposable. Just something to be sacrificed at the Altar of Eddie.
If I live to be a hundred years old, I will never know where all of the contempt came from. Why were the girls in my family so despised? Why were we so worthless to so many people? Why were our lives not more important than the reputation and freedom of one man? Why was it ok for Eddie to molest and rape us?
I know it’s impossible to ever get answers to these questions, but I long to understand. There’s a part of me that believes if I could just understand this, my life would suddenly make sence. I know this is pure fantasy and will never happen, but I just long to categorize these experiences and make them fit into some form of sanity. I want to have simple explanations, even if they are painful ones. Instead I am stuck with this horrible feeling of worthless-ness. Of being a disposable object… a thing of contempt. I feel like I must be truly broken for an entire family to want to toss me to a monster, then protect the monster.
I know one day I will be beyond this in my healing and the quest for answers will not matter so much. I know that one day I will learn to accept that my family is just profoundly broken and twisted and wrong and completely unaware of what love actually is or what it means. But between now and then I have this gaping hole in my heart and a pain that permeates all I touch and a sadness that lingers behind my smile.
















