Forgive - who?

If Mom had been able to write a letter of forgiveness to her siblings, I wonder what she would have been offering/asking forgiveness for.  I never thought of asking for forgiveness.  I always thought of running, of getting away from it all - getting as far away as possible.  The only flaw in that plan is that we/I take ourselves and our histories and our memories and our patterns with us.

I just remember being so mean. It's as if I couldn't think, couldn't reason, I could simply react.  I was always lashing out or hiding in my room, or in a tree.  I remember yelling at you all, calling names.  I remember hitting B#3 directly on top of his head with my baton.  Mom got mad and sent me to my room.  That was perfect, because I just wanted to be alone, to be left alone.

I think I separate myself from you all, because I think you should all remember how awful I was and ostracize me.  So I preemptively isolate myself.  I think I have psychologically sent myself to my room and stayed for decades!

When I babysat, I was trapped.  I was responsible for anything y'all did.  I took the flak, especially from Dad.  Yet the name of the game, especially from our brothers was, "She ain't the boss of us."  I remember once the two youngest, our sweet little babies, were following me around screaming at me.  I probably wouldn't let them do something, and I was probably being unreasonable, but their screaming was starting to hurt...Did I mention that I lived on aspirin for about a year?  So I put them in the living room with tape on their mouths.  In retrospect it was humiliating and abusive, and a little funny - they could have removed the tape - instead they tried to talk through it.  Dad came home, saw this mistreatment of his precious babies and told me I was a sadist.  I had to look the word up.

So they are good.  I am bad.  He left his children in the care of the sadist day after day, even after he knew how bad I was.  How can we all like each other?  Is it any surprise that we are so separate, each huddled in our own shame, our own memories of mistreatment.

Forgiveness...I forgive you.  Can I forgive myself?



Thank you for the Mother's Day sentiment. I remember feeling very maternal toward younger sisters at times.