Today was an interesting day. I'm going to have to see if I can find the words for it.

I went over to my mom's this afternoon and I told her about how my classes are going - especially the one last night. The homework for it was that each person was to look at their lives from ages 5 or 7 up until 10 to 12 (whichever you picked).

Those were not comfortable years for me. My maternal grandfather died when I was seven and a certain uncle decided that he now had free reign. He was the classic textbook example of a sexual abuser: right down to the threats of dire happenings if I told anyone about what occurred. I remember the pain from him squeezing my breasts when they first started to grow and the feelings of wrongness when he did other things. I remember the shame (although I'm not sure who the shame was for - me or her) when he decided to fondle me (whatever area you're thinking is probably right) in front of his then four, five and up year old daughter.

I also remember standing up to him when he threatened me in front of everyone when I was about to tell everyone about what he had been doing. His exact words were, "Now you know I gave you that dog right there - I'll take him away if you say anything." I told him to go right ahead. I didn't care.

Anyway...I was talking to my mom about all this. She is still holding on to all of that. All the pain; the shame, the utter powerlessness that she felt at the time. It is still fresh after 20 years.

Sometimes though, it is a struggle to talk to my mother about things like this. I can't just say what I feel - she won't hear what I mean. Oh, she'll listen to what I say but she doesn't hear it. Tonight I made the statement that as a child, I couldn't understand why no one would stand up to my uncle. Her response to my statement was anger - she said that when she asked me that question about him touching me, I said, 'no' and that I couldn't blame her when I had lied to her.

I hit the roof.

I told her point blank that I didn't like talking to her about things from the past because of that reason right there. I can not stand it when I say something and someone else jumps up to put words in my mouth that I never said. I told her that if she would shut up and listen to what I just said, she would understand that nowhere did I say that I blamed her, I was simply saying what I couldn't say as a child. I also told her about all the threats that were made about if I told. I did, however, promptly apologize about telling her to shut up. I'm not that much of a cad.

The thing about all this, though, that really hurts is the fact that she is completely unwilling to deal with this on her own. She is putting it off on someone else - namely, God. We talked about when my uncle died - she kept talking about how she is firmly convinced that God took care of him but question is - if God took care of him...why is he still bothering her so much?

I know that there's nothing I can do in this situation. It's her journey, her path. My own response to the quote from StarHawk over on the sidebar ("What must you lose to the night?") is that I lost the fear, the shame, the blame and the embarrassment that I didn't deserve in the first place. Here's to hoping that my mother can do the same. So mote it be.