Day 4 – A Journey of My Spiritual Experiences (Listen while you read)
Jean, my mother, was suppressed terribly by the man she married; my father. She hated being married to this man; however, she made the best of it.
I can’t say that I ever really understood Jean. She was incredibly unhappy and yet she remained in the situation that brought her such grief. Life was certainly very different for her generation. There was really nowhere for women in her position to go. They just ‘put up’ with whatever conditions prevailed.
I knew the ugly side to Jean. She gave me her ugly side. I saw her mothering side when she comforted one of my older sisters. She had a great relationship with her. I was privy to her comforting words when my sister began menstruating. I stood outside our bedroom door and listened as Jean described how babies were born. I was so touched by this exchange. I could feel the fondness between them. When my time came Jean said, “There are towels in the linen press.” What a difference.
I can remember coming home from school with a packet of cigarettes in my school-bag. Some time before, the school had sent a letter home to my parents stating that I had been smoking in the toilets with a number of girls. This was untrue. My father was to go to the school to talk to the Principal. I was called out of my 9th grade class to go down to the Principal’s office. As I approached I heard my father’s raised voice. He was shouting profanities as loudly as he could. They came out of the office; both of them red faced. My father looked at me, and without a word pushed me forward before him. We didn’t speak. This was my father’s way; one didn’t speak about anything.
For the next year the Principal would ridicule me in public whenever the opportunity arose. I understood why and, because I didn’t have any friends to back me up, I would obediently do as he said; picking up all of the rubbish from the play areas, or whatever else he could do to try to humiliate me, as he had been humiliated by my father. Naturally, I never uttered a word of this to Charles (my father); this would have been quite a mistake to do so.
Some time later I did start to smoke. I wasn’t inhaling; it was just a ruse. However, my mother had smelt the smoke on me and asked for a cigarette. I will never forget the look on her face. She hadn’t ever looked at me the way she looked at my older sister; there was always a slight smile on her face in those moments. The look she gave me was always without warmth, without love. I opened my bag and offered her the packet. She took one for herself and one for me. We lit them, and she remained icy cold. She did not take her eyes off me as I puffed upon the cigarette; very mindful she was checking to see if I was inhaling. We finished the cigarettes; her with that same cold stare. We never spoke about it again. This is a recurring theme; my parents didn’t ‘speak’ of things. It was as if they hadn’t happened.
Uncle Arthur spent some time with us. I say us, meaning my daughter and me. She (my daughter) had been a part of this adventure from the start. It wasn’t unusual for her to speak with Uncle Arthur. They conversed a little. However, it wasn’t until Sister Henrietta came along that she really entered into another dimension of conversation. Sister Henrietta told us she was a past life experience of mine. In other words; I had been Sister Henrietta in some past occasion.
My daughter took to Sister like a bee to honey. I remember being somewhat jealous of this. Up until this time, I was her companion, her confidant, her friend. Now, Sister was entering this domain of mine and it hurt when she was able to offer her advice. Advice that I couldn’t.
To explain: I would speak the words spirit spoke (some call it channelling). So, here was Sister impinging upon my territory as a mum. However, I soon learned there were quite a number of areas where this was a boon. Indeed, there were many things, unbeknown to me, that were happening in this young girl’s life I was not privy to. Therefore, sometimes the things they would converse about were totally unknown by me. The advice, and sometimes the ‘shorthand’ they would use whilst conversing, allowed me to appreciate that my daughter’s thoughts weren’t always voiced. However, Sister knew what she was thinking, and what was happening within her life. Having a mentor like this was a great benefit for a young girl. Sister remained with us for approximately one year. She then told us another would be coming to replace her. I was lost for a while over this. I’d grown very fond of Sister and had, in time, overcome the jealousy. She had become an integral personality within our lives, and I knew I would surely miss her.
Carolyn Page – ABC of Spirit Talk
I think we lived in the same house, some things are too similar. Not speaking. Violence. Drinking. (My dad drank, mom never did) Parents came from the same school of life.
My father wouldn’t drink. Seems when he did he got violent… 😉 I didn’t ever see him take a drink until the birth of my daughter. He and my husband drank a whole bottle of Chivas Regal Scotch Whisky the night our daughter was born… My husband, because he was a problem drinker; my father because he felt partly responsible for my son being adopted. He had refused to help me. Sort of like a drunk; they ‘regret’ their actions later… 😦 Sad; I know that he suffered in his later years for the decisions of his younger years…
At least your dad was smart about that. He must have had some inkling. I am sorry to hear about your son being adopted. My son, Eric, was born “out of wedlock” too, while I was in the Air Force. The Air Force gave me the option of staying in or getting out. Eric was born in 1982, so it was still kinda “bad” to get pregnant and not be married. They, the Air Force also told me I could get whatever I wanted from the father, financially, since the father was in the AF they would make sure of that too. The father was ALSO married. People told me they thought he was when we were going out, so I asked him if he was. When I asked he asked ME what would I say if he were married. I told him I would tell him to leave. He said he wasn’t. THAT should have been a big clue. Later I found out that he was married to someone he married while drunk, why am I not surprised, in Las Vegas. He never saw her again, had to put ads in the paper to find her so he could get a divorce to marry another girl, that girl wasn’t me! 🙂 When I was about 5 months pregnant he came ot see me, told me he had just returned from going back to the states because the girl he was GOING to marry had had so many abortions she needed to have a hysterectomy. I dunno what that girl was doing. Which meant he would never have a child if he married her and his only child would be MY child. So I made him give up all rights to Eric. The Judge Advocate on base said it wasn’t legally binding, but if something ever came up where the father wanted his child it would help me quite a bit. So I did. That is why I told the AF I wanted NOTHING from him. No opening of any kind of I could help it, that would get his gnarly foot in the door. May I ask, when was your son born? Has he ever tried to find you, if you know? Have you ever thought of looking for him?
Are you sure that you are not me…???? He was born in 1971 and yes I found him. I can’t remember the year however, here in Oz the adoption laws changed which meant that we were then able to obtain the birth records (it was about 1991 – both the mother and child then had privy to such information). The ‘day’ of that law taking effect saw me in Sydney at the Registrar standing in a long line of excited, scared, happy, emotional people. That started my search for him. To ‘cut it short’; we’ve seen each other a few times. He lives in Western Australia (4hrs by plane). In the post, I mentioned that the counsellors at the hospital had told me that the adoptive parents were flying down from Queensland every weekend just to see him; well, his birth certificate stated that his adoptive parents lived in Mortdale (a suburb 3 miles from my home). That took a lot of forgiveness….!!! 😉 I can still feel angry ’bout that one… 😉 (I’ve asked a question regarding your son in your last comment… too sad 😦 )