Judgements Not Passed

i read this post at another blog and found it both intruiging and saddening.

i've been reading this particular blog for a while. except lately i'd gotten tired of it. it had lost its humor. lost its novelty. but that post was great.

especially when i think back to all the early posts i read, where her husband reminded me so much of my own father.

don't think i ever did leave a comment. just lurked. drawn to the idea that there are other husbands, other fathers out there, just like mine was.

and her struggle to decide what is best. to stay with him or to kick him out has put thoughts into my head.

i think about my parents' divorce. how it came so late. how it was such a long time coming. how it only happened because uncle benny died and left them a lot of money.

there were countless times during my youth i'd wished my father away to some remote location where he'd never be seen or heard from again. it never worked by the way.

and finally later on, when i was much older, and far more damaged it actually happened.

and i can't for the life of me figure out if my mother made the right choice. staying until it was financially suitable to leave.

what is the value of a not being emotioanlly abused and not bearing witness to your mother's emotional abuse in dollars and cents?

which is more of a neccessity? food, shelter, clothing? or happiness. confidence. sanity.

with the one you live, but do you want to. with the other you may die of starvation, but you'll die wanting to live.

sometimes i feel like she waited til i was old enough to help her. to carry her through it. cuz to the bitter end she was reluctant. afraid. to be on her own. she never ended up on her own as she feared she might.

but somehow i did.

Comments

  1. I visited the site you posted to your own. I shared my point of view. And if I could, I would hug that woman.

    I don't know what to say about marriages with people that seem to be falling apart at the seams.

    My dad grew up with an alcoholic father. He used to put coins under his kid's doors. And when they would put their hands out to reach under the door to grab the coins, he would stomp on their hands with his feet.

    It's like I said on your friends post: When is enough enough?

    You said: there were countless times during my youth i'd wished my father away to some remote location where he'd never be seen or heard from again. it never worked by the way.

    My response: I wonder if my dad wished the same thing, because my grampa died last year; and my dad doesn't care. As far as my dad is concerned, his own father never existed. My dad HATED his father. My dad, even at 57 years old, will tell me that he never had a father.

    That blows my mind.

    I wish somehow that I could find a relation with your past experiences. But I can't.

    And maybe that's the beauty of it all.

    Each of us have been given individual challenges that we are to face in our lives.

    I guess the question we should ask ourselves: What am I to take from this?
    *************
    Am I lucky because my mom and dad have been married for 31 years?

    I don't know.

    I sometimes feel as though my parents' marriage is a curse upon my own life.

    They represent something I have always desired; but I've always failed at.

    ReplyDelete

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