A forgotten daughter

My darling daughter left today.
Off to a new life after a long dark winter.
I had asked her to take a look at my beginnings of a Blog and after she joked that it looked pretty similar to her site (http://mollotovcocktail.blogspot.com/ and that I better not copy her) she quietly mentioned that she was not mentioned in my posting... not even in my bio.
Another hurt in a long cruel time.
I'm sorry sweet girl.
Sweet Molly. Graduated from Brown with honors last year. Surfs, runs, writes beautifully. Kind, quiet and so charismatic, with a smile that literally warms a room. Never out of my mind or my heart.
How did I not mention you?
When M left me he left you. And to make sure that you knew how little he thought of you he never even acknowledged you in his impersonal goodbye note where he demanded that I sell the house, or he "would force me to sell".
Another hurt in a cruel time.
Molly, he was jealous of you. Of your light and your talent and the gifts that came naturally to you. He spent ten years trying to put out your light. Damning you. He is gone. Now we can recover.

A letter to M:

In late January, when I was most lost I made a call to Dominion Power to try to get the bills sent to my name instead of being forwarded to you. A very officious black lady answered the phone and I stumbled around trying to explain the situation and finally started to cry, it was 8:30am and it was only the fourth or fifth time that day I had dissolved into grief and despair. Once I had explained that you had abandoned me, that I was totally alone trying to figure out how I could keep my home and that I was fearful about doing anything wrong, she was very clear about what I needed to do in order to receive the bills. And then she sighed and whispered into the phone, “You have to pray every minute of every hour of every day.” There was a long silence between us before I whispered, “What do I pray for?” She didn’t pause at all to answer, “Strength. Wisdom. Courage.” She went on to tell me her story.

She was the first woman I spoke to who had gone through an abandonment. From that point I made it a habit to be honest to everyone I needed advice or assistance from. So many women had been through this hell. So many survivors, it is stunning. And everyone has advice as well as their own stories of shock, grief, irony, and ultimately coping. The coping has been elusive for me. Especially since I was betrayed by you and by Ka, whom I believed was a friend, and that you are threatening to live with her next door.

I emailed you soon after you left that I would have fought your enemies for you. I return to that statement often. That’s what I did for so many years. I fought your demons. I tried to reason with and lighten up your dark places. I begged your father for reconciliation. I demanded that Molly apologize for her slights, whether I agreed or not with your criticisms. I listened and tried to commiserate with your rants. I excluded or diminished the time we spent with people from our life that you did not approve of or had grown to dislike – Bill, Catherine and Steven, Susan W. ,Susan G., Sheila, Helene, the theatre people, etc., the list goes on

And when you threatened me physically I took the blame. You made it clear - it was my fault. I made you do it. I was too generous with Molly at your expense. I omitted telling you things, and you accused me of lying. I was defensive over another criticism of my behavior too quickly. It was always my fault; no pleading, arguing, reasoning could change your mind. I made you rise up on the balls of your feet with your hands in my face. I was responsible for pushing you too far. I had to fix it. I had to make it better. I had to be careful. And when I wasn’t careful, you had the right to make me fearful. I concealed information from you to try to avoid confrontation; I was often childish in my reasoning - scurrying to avoid your displeasure. You had the right to with-hold affection, remind me of my faults and Molly’s faults, and all the faults of all the people who you held in low regard, over and over and over, until after ten years, it became normal. Being nervous, apprehensive, worried became normal. I have to unlearn all of that now.

This is what I know. Being married successfully is about respect. It is also about forgiveness and compromise and tolerance and laughter and ease. It is about knowing the faults of your companion and working with them, around them. It is believing in the best. It’s joy of the simplest kind. It’s the complicated entwining of memories, and trust and plans and trust. Trust.

Sadly, with your history. The truth of your history. No one can afford to trust you. No one should.

I’ve had almost six months to watch other relationships. Since you left I have quietly watched the give and take between couples and have thought to myself, “ uh-oh, she’s going to be in trouble for that comment.” Or “she better not tease him like that, she will pay.” I watch the give and take and as I emerge from my fog I see that within good relationships there are no unforgivable sins. Wives are allowed to tease with affection and sometimes be bitchy or demanding. There is so much understanding and forgiveness that wives can make mistakes, have PMS, be dependent sometimes, and favor their children over their husbands. Husbands can tease back with affection, make mistakes, behave childishly. But more than that there is an equal exchange of admiration and the constant communication of small signs of affection. Wives and husbands relax with each other. Fires can be asked for and laid without it being a huge demand. Intricate drinks can be mixed and delivered with gentle thanks. It all looks easy.

Recently I also began to remember my own first marriage. How a complicated, intelligent, respected man loved me and admired me for who I was and not who he thought he could mold me into. How I grew with him and he with me. How we worked on the faults that were damaging with tenderness and compassion not anger. I remember that we struggled together; we had tough years, we got help together when we needed it. And we forgave each other. He wasn’t angry. Not at me, not at himself, not at the people who may have disappointed him. He didn’t tolerate cruelty or mean-ness, he may have tolerated my stubbornness more then he should of, but he understood what lay beneath the surface foolishness. We both knew that no hurts or slights were intentional between us, and we recognized that when times were more difficult then others special care was needed to survive them. And when it got really tough we knew that we were never going back on our word. No, it was not perfect – but it grew into a dance of love and admiration and not of power. He was not a coward or a bully. You are both.

Finally I have been remembering our marriage. Yours and mine. So many mistakes. So many misunderstandings. And anger and fear. I loved you so much – your intelligence, your curiosity, the days you were happy. I loved working with you and traveling with you. And when you were at peace I loved being with you. You were generous and loving and so focused on us while we courted. We were going to be able to do anything together. I pledged myself to the promise you made of love and a life together, come what may. You had always been the victim of selfish women and I was going to make it right. I was going to love you into a new joyful life. But when we moved in together it was clear that very little I did was quite right and it felt as though nothing my daughter did was ever right.

I spent hours and hours defending a twelve-year-old and then went on defending her for ten more years. Her walk, her manner of speech, her chewing, her work ethic, her lack of friends, her habit of leaving cups, when she ignored you, when she didn’t ignore you, her tone, her eating habits, her humor, her expectations, her dress, her moods, her topics of conversation, her dreams. None of these were ever right. According to you she was selfish, and self-centered, lazy and disrespectful. When she excelled she didn’t deserve it, nor did she appreciate your contribution to her success. She ignored you and you went ballistic, which made her even more distant and wary and you angrier and less forgiving. So there I was - stuck in the middle trying to appease you both, explain one to the other, defend one to the other, stand up for one to the other, loving you both and torn apart almost daily by how neither of you could compromise, forgive or simply laugh at the situation. Sometimes I avoided telling you information about her, trying to avoid yet another confrontation. Never a good or brave choice -a survivor’s instinct perhaps, but I do not excuse myself this stupidity. Sometimes I would listen to your rants and try to explain her to you, sometimes I would have heard enough and stood toe-to-toe to you. She thinks I did nothing to defend her from you. She only remembers me forcing her to apologize. Forcing her to look you in the eye. She thinks I was a coward. You thought I supported her “selfish” behavior. You thought I was blind to her faults. There was no way I could win.

The last year and a half you returned more and more often to your favorite weapon: Intimidation. I know now how fond you are of this by talking to your ex-wives. How you twisted those stories. You were not the victim. You took your anger and depression and frustration out on those women just as you did on me. And when you became bored you seduced someone else while you were still married and promised the new woman a wonderful life with you. Once your new life was secured you turned your back on the woman still clutching to the promise of your old life. You always get set up first, and then you use your size and your anger to frighten the woman you no longer want. You rise up on the balls of your feet and clench your fists. You choked your first two wives, knocked them down slammed them against walls. I was lucky. You only bruised me and shook me and terrorized me awake with a fist slammed next to my head. You only hit me once and the bruises lasted for weeks. You only screamed at me to stop editing you when I asked you to stop. You would only rise up over me and tell me what you were liable to do if I didn’t shut-up.

I was lucky.

You threaten and then you tell each of us over and over how we made you do it. We forced you into a corner and you had no choice. It was our fault and when would we ever learn. We didn’t respect you, and you had no choice. And then you were done with the marriages you lied to each of us. How much of our life together was a lie? You have repeated these patterns with all of us – your first wife, the woman from your office that you left Missy for and who broke up with you after four months, your second wife. Me – your third wife, and now Ka. I imagine you have been working on Ka to marry you right away, just like you worked on me, just like you worked on your second wife. You have charmed her and told her stories and worked on her beach house, and poured her wine and told her that she is the woman you have been waiting for, just like your second wife and me. You are romantic and attentive and she is the one, finally. Just as I was. And you have told her what a victim you have always been. You and Ka have gotten right into counseling, just like you did with me and your second wife. Telling the stories of familial abuse and how you were not respected and how you tried to survive in a dysfunctional relationship. And Ka has bought into it. Just like I did. Does she believe that she is the one who will love you and help repair you? That is what I believed, with all my heart. The bonus here is that she was already married to an angry man. She knows how to disappear when her husband gets agitated. How to agree and mollify. She will be the one most like your mother. And you can finally be just like your father, but smarter. A smarter bully. She never had a chance. She was still in shock from just being widowed and panicked at the idea of a life alone. You were on her in the fall working on her, convincing her of your fiction that you and I both knew our marriage was over, helping her “recover” from her loss. The move from our life together into your life with her was going to be seamless. You have perfected this, and widows are the prime target - widows with money and property. Just like me, but this time without the inconvenience of a child.

And I loved you. I truly loved you. I saw your hurt and your confusion and wanted so much to make it better. I made a promise to you and I never abandoned it. Everyday, if it went well I would say to myself, “This is the day. We will get it right. He will love me and love our life, and celebrate with me.” And then I would say something, or Molly would look at you funny, or someone at work would tease you and you would start getting angry. The pattern would start all over again. Hours in front of the same computer game, night after night, year after year, glass after glass of wine or port – you would self-medicate any way you could to escape your unhappiness and frustration. Sometimes I could help you. But more often then not you didn’t really want my help, or my love and my touch became annoying and my kisses became repulsive. Occasionally, I would see a glimpse of the man who courted me and I would think. “Today. Today will the first day of his real joy. Our real happiness.” It was always an illusion. I loved our good days together. I loved taking care of you, cooking for you, creating our home together, drinking in the paintings at the National Gallery, enjoying our friends, hearing you say “We like us.” Is it possible that was only last fall, or was that joy just another lie?

Rest assured that I am not blameless or free of my own demons. I am struggling with my complicity, cowardice and guilt and overwhelming sadness over this loss. At times in our marriage I behaved stubbornly or obsessively or childishly or all three. Those times haunt me. Nevertheless, I truly loved you M. I wrestle everyday with letting that love go. Despite so many difficulties and mistakes, despite my fear and apprehension of making you angry, I made a promise to love and care for you and I built my life around that promise. I am sick at some of the choices I made over the years within our relationship. I cringe at the memory of my begging to be told that you loved me. Yet, I never stopped believing in us. We could of compromised. We could of gotten help. But after our initial counseling you refused to go back, and I began living with you as a fearful woman, not as the woman I was eleven years ago. Not the woman I am try to be again.

You have taught me many things. You betrayed everyone you said you loved – your friends, your wives - you abandoned us all. Now I only ask that you go with God. Be gone from our lives, please. May God bless you and keep you. May we forgive each other. May we both find our peace. May you understand that you were truly loved. And may you never be allowed to lie to, terrorize and abandon another woman. And I will continue to pray - for courage, strength and wisdom - for both of us.