Through the Window of the Past: Rescue Me

The Christmas I Moved to NC, 1973

 From my old journal: Day Two Entry

Aunt Mattie 28 October 2013
 
One day when I was out shopping in the pixel world, I came across this compass necklace. It didn't occur to me at the time why I wanted it so much, but later, I realized that the compass, for me, represents Aunt Mattie. Inside of me, she is "directional North" and has been since my very earliest memories. When I was four, she flew to New Orleans where my mother and I were living to collect me and bring me back to North Carolina. The reasons why she came are unclear, but I know there was "hushed" talk about the babysitter I was staying with abusing me. I have no memories of that except sometimes in dreams where it feels as if she locked me in a closet over night while my mother was out on a date. There was also mention of my mother wanting to enjoy being single, dating, etc., and a little girl getting in the way, although that was never said to my face. It was so long ago, I don't know what to believe and there's no one left to ask, although really the details don't matter now. I only remember that when we got to her home (which later became my very first "Safe Harbour" even though it was never completely safe for me, it was certainly safer than where I'd come from). I was very skittish around people and had nightmares. So, I slept with her and I vividly remember that to help me fall asleep she'd pat my little butt and hum songs to me. If she fell asleep before me, I'd rock into her and say, "Pat me. Pat me." She'd wake up and keep going until I finally fell asleep even though frequently she'd have to get up early the next day and go to work. When I moved in, her husband moved to the bedroom next door and it wasn't until I was grown that I fully understood the implications of how much having me there uprooted her own life. She did, in fact, retire early so she could stay home and take care of me full time. I asked her once, "Why did you come get me? Why didn't daddy or grandma come for me?" and she said, "I didn't come because no one else would do it and I had to. I know you've been told that, but it's not true. I came because I wanted you. I wanted to protect you and keep you safe. I wanted you to have a  home. You are my last chickie and as long as I'm alive, you will have a home here." When she died in 2003, it felt as if my "home" had just been eradicated off the face of the earth.
 
I wish I could remember the stories she told me over the years growing up, or better yet, written them down. Everything about her became the template to which I "built" myself, from her unwavering Faith to her gentle southern grace, I wanted to be as kind, forgiving, and loving as she was. I never quite measured up to some of those standards and adjusted others to better suit my own personality, but I know she wouldn't have been disappointed in me for my "failings". She was always champion to the imperfect, the underdogs, and angelic friend to the world's villains. She gave up her own dreams of being a writer and traveling the world, to help raise her brothers and sisters, and later their children, and finally, me. She felt this was her duty but that didn't make her bitter about it. She did so with love, grace, and a whole boatload of patience, which I'm sure all of us tried mightily before it was all done. She told me a story of when I was not yet three, before I moved with my mother to New Orleans, about keeping me for the weekend and bringing me to church. She said I was playing with the things in her purse and found her lipstick. She hadn't been paying attention to me until Dr. Martin (the preacher) looked in her direction and grinned. She looked to see what he was smiling about and saw me with red lipstick all over my mouth, cheeks and chin and just shook her head. I don't remember her ever scolding me, but she was "very disappointed in me" the day I lied to her and skipped school and she found my butt before even 9 o'clock. Her disappoint in me made me want to die. 
 
I didn't have "rules" in the house where I grew up. Aunt Mattie would just say, "I trust you to do what is right." And even though she was my hero, as a mother I disagree with her lax parenting philosophies. Letting me make up my own rules was a very dangerous thing and usually got me in way over my head. I WANTED to do the right thing, but I wasn't always sure what that was until it was too late and I'd be like, "Well THAT wasn't it!" Most of my mishaps I diligently kept from her. She also tried very hard to shield me from the abuse that was a constant shadow over my world, but to no avail. I resigned myself at a young age to just survive it until I was old enough to escape it on my own, and I did. I also swore that viscous cycle would end with me. That, too, was a battle I won. My girls knew absolutely nothing about any of that until they were nearly grown women in their own right.
 
I know Aunt Mattie has been on my mind a lot lately because I'm once again searching desperately for the "right path" in my life. It's extremely frustrating to get to this age/phase/stage when I thought I'd be "settled" onto a certain path with the way before me relatively clear, only to find myself utterly lost and standing at this Crossroads. It makes me want to scream and throw a toddler-worthy tantrum of epic proportions, even though I know that is completely pointless. Apparently this state of confusion I'm experiencing is called my "midlife crisis". That term both aggravates and comforts me. It annoys me because it makes me feel as if I've become trapped in some stupid cliche'. It comforts me because at least I know it's relatively common and normal. What I'd rather know is that there is an end in sight, because right now it doesn't feel as if it will ever make sense, it doesn't feel as if anything will make sense except that I've outlived my usefulness, done all I've come here to do and have now reached the age where I wait to die. I have run out of places to look for answers and patience to just "wait it out". This is not a good thing, because when I feel this way is when I'm in my most self-destructive mode. It leaves me wondering every single day if this is the day I destroy my entire life just to see what will happen next. It's not a good feeling!