lovaliss's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - When our brother died my little brother was only 6 years old. I remember being more concerned about him than I was about me. I felt real grief thinking of him as a 6 year old having to feel the pain of existence--I wished it had not come so soon for him--maybe it was projection that I wished it had not come so soon for me. I took it upon myself to be emotionally available for him in a way that I knew our parents could not be. I took it upon myself to raise him emotionally and swore to myself that I'd make sure he never questioned if he mattered, if someone cared, and if someone loved him--I wanted him to know for certainty that I loved him and cared about how he felt, and what he thought, and what he was experiencing. I went out of my way at 11 years old to create fun and happy times for him--I wanted him to have a normal childhood--and I think I did a pretty good job at creating this. And maybe in a way I was creating it for myself--but it was also always centered around him. I used to talk to him as if he were my peer. I couldn't talk to my friends or peers because I felt alienated from them; knew deep down if I ever expressed what was going on behind closed doors they wouldn't and couldn't understand it. So I talked to him as if he were my peer; perhaps the only person I was ever emotionally honest with at all times was him and that is still the case. When he reached junior high I remember the day I realized that my hugs and kisses were embarrassing to him, and I made a conscious effort to give him his space and to allow him to be a teenager without embarrassing him. (I dropped him off every day at school, I came and checked him out from school on special occasions, and I went to pick him up after school when I could--when I did not have volleyball, basketball, or track practice, which were all involvements to have an excuse to get out of being at home as often as possible.) It was difficult to see him growing up, but I knew that this is what mother's must do--let go when it came time to let go and let them explore and experience life on their own without the constant overseeing protection of a parent. So I let go when it came time to let go but I still defending him fiercly when anyone threatend him or hurt him (except for the times he did not tell me about which was normal, I realize), this is how I gained the reputation among high school girls that I was to be feared. The first time I went away to college right after I graduated at age 17 I used to send him packages full of his favorite candy and letters expressing how much I missed him, how much I loved him, and how cool and wonderful I thought he was. I just missed him so much, and felt sad I could not be with him and be present for all the changes and things that were happening in his life. But every single time he had something important he was doing that meant a lot to him I was there--I would drive there and stay the entire time. Like the time he was playing in a band for the high school Battle of the Bands. But when I lived in Provo before my mission and he was in highschool he used to call me late at night after my parents went to sleep and tell me all about his day, what was going on, the girl he liked, and his different insecurities. I realized then that all the "peer talk" had created a very emotionally, mature young adult--and he had a way of analyzing his feelings and intentions that was unique. I adjusted then as well, and tried to be a good parent that fostered self-esteem and self-trust. I listened, never gave advice without being asked, and tried my best to communicate to him that I had trust in him as a person, in his perceptions and emotions, and that I thought he was wonderful and worth loving in every single aspect. My mom used to hear him on the phone with me late at night, and once she addressed this with me, saying, "I heard him on the phone the other night around midnight talking to you. I ask him every day when he comes home how his day was and what happened and he always just shrugs his shoulders and says 'Nothing.' But then I hear him on the phone with you late at night and I think well something must have happened because he talks for hours about what is happening." She said this with a slight accusing tone, a tone that suggested she was hurt that she was not the person he came home to and confided in. What I did not have the heart to tell her was that in her emotional absence I had raised this child, and tried my very best to always be honest and allow him the space to be completely emotionally honest too and that as a result I had created a safe space for him to be exactly who he was and feel exactly what he felt at all times. I remember mumbling something to her about teenagers and how they are and how siblings are safer to talk to, but what I really meant to say was that in her absence I had filled in, and dedicated myself to being the parent she had never been able to be because she was too grief-stricken to even be conscious of what was going on, and that she, unconsciously, had set the precedence that no one else's fears, grief, insecurties, or problems were to be voiced in her presence because she was just barely getting by dealing with his death. When I left for my mission this was the most challenging time for me with him. It ripped me apart that I could not be there for him. I used to cry and cry thinking of how lonely and insecure he felt having to go to college all alone, and yet there was nothing I could do about it. But I told him that new things always felt unfamiliar and lonely at first, but that this was expected, and that the thing to do was just acknowledge to yourself that you felt insecure, unsure, unfamiliar and lonely but that those feelings would pass, and that things that felt this way would in time become familiar and normal, that this was the process of change, of growing, and stretching. But it turned out this was a very important step for him, and for me, and it taught me that I needed to allow him to feel his own fears and his own grief and his own insecurities without rushing in to try and fix everything before it could happen. When I came home from my mission I cried all the time, stayed in my room a lot, because I was so overcome with all the suffering I had seen in the black ghetto every day for 11 months straight, and how this related to my own loss and for that reason felt personal. And that I didn't have words to say that I knew this random book could never solve the pain I witnessed that was produced by our racist and hierarchical structures. I promised myself as I left that as soon as I figured out what to do to lessen the suffering and actually contribute in some way with some solutions that would produce real systemic change, that I would do it. I am keeping my promise because I can never erase their faces or their pain. But upon returning home, I felt suffocated, I felt trapped, I knew I was ready to put the whole thing to a test before I dove into a life of dishonesty centered around the approval of my loved ones and others, but I couldn't as long as everyone around me already expected something of me that I often felt I was not capable of delivering or that would compel judgement and in turn self-loathing and self-questioning on top of what I already felt. So I moved to New York, because I felt like there I could be free to explore my doubts in whatever way was necessary. This was the real reason I moved, and it was a very conscious reason. In this time I came to express my doubts to my parents, because they asked, and because I was too naive then to know that not everyone rewarded self-honesty and that not everyone found it noble, but would turn it on you with fear and self-righteous pity in a second. After they knew the truth they said a lot of horrible things, would call me crying and begging, telling me once that they'd give up their physical life if it meant bringing me back to the church. It was hard to stand my ground. I didn't want to. I wanted to make everyone happy. I wanted to make myself happy. For a time upon returning I tried, and did, only to bring the pain and grief upon them again with no control to take it away or ease it any respect. It took me a year after returning from New York to realize that all of this erratic grief was really about him, and that he'd died, and that we had been pretending this whole time it was okay because we'd all do our part to be with him again some day, but that deep down none of us were okay with it--just trying to hold out and hoping for the Apocalypse any day now so it would all be over. In this time my dad called me at one point and said to me, "We believe Satan is using you to get to D before he goes on his mission, because D has always followed your lead and takes after what you think, so please, out of respect to us, don't tell him about any of this and don't talk to him about any of it, and don't try to persuade him." I was stunned. I was hurt. I was angry. I was all of these things because I had raised him, having only his welfare in my mind, and they now had to gall to tell me to stay away from him because I was bad for him. I said nothing, just agreed and hung up and cried. He said that in that time they were talking in low whispers a lot, as if he wouldn't know or couldn't tell what was going on--but he'd over hear them. He'd walk into the room and they'd abruptly stop talking, change the subject, and put on a nice positive face. This angered me, because I raised him as an emotional equal and I knew that he was, but they were treating him like he was dumb as if he didn't know better. But I respected their wishes, because I knew I had I no real claim, and I worried deep down that if I was wrong that I didn't want to ever be the reason to influence him off the path of the truth if it was in fact the truth--back then I left the option open--though now I feel so certain of what I know that I'm willing to wager my brothers death and my eternal life on it--which has been no easy thing to sacrifice. So I stopped contacting him or calling him--which was very difficult for me--it was the same as if someone told me I could no longer speak to or see my child because it had been determined that I was a bad influence and an unfit parent. But it happened to him on his mission anyway. The same thing that happened to me happened to him. And he'd email a personal email to me each week and he'd express different things and I always tried to respond neutrally and tried to be a good parent that fostered self-esteem and self-trust, once again. Again, I listened, never gave advice without being asked, and tried my best to communicate to him that I had trust in him as a person, in his perceptions and emotions, and I that I thought he was wonderful and worth loving in every single aspect. When he expressed doubts about his doubts I encouraged him to explore them and go back as many times as he needed and that if his choice was to stay in it then I respected his choice and loved him and would honor his choices as valid. I knew it was important that his decision be his own, and not influenced by someone else. Everyone I had ever seen influenced by someone else developed a bitter and hateful attitude to cover the fact that deep down they still felt guilty inside because they weren't sure of their unbelief for themselves. Which is not to say guilt is a signifier of truth, it's often just a signifier of your complete training since childhood. In the years after I have tried to communicate to him that if at any point in time he decides he wants to come out about his unbelief that I support him. I have tried to communicate that if he decides to stay in it and walk the path of a non-believer amongst the believers that I support him and that I know he can be an influence in the structure which desperately needs change. I do know however, that if he ever decides to come out out about his unbelief that I will be blamed. I used to fear this a lot and wonder how I'd handle it if it ever happened and hope it just never di...but I think I'm more in a position where I have learned to love my parents and family in spite of their disapproval or condescension of my unbelief as an apparent weakness and I think I could handle the blame. In fact, I'm more than willing to shoulder the blame. If that is ever what he feels he needs to do and responsibility is projected onto me then so be it. I always, every second, literally, feel proud of the person that he has become and that he is. I worry sometimes that I might have projected my own anxiety onto him or smothered him too much with too much protection, and caused unnecessary neuroses, and that may be so. But with all that said, I am so proud of who he is--I can't imagine a more wonderful man than he has turned out to be--he is kind, compassionate, intelligent, gender and race conscious, emotionally mature, self-honest, honest with others--including emotionally honest, questions everything, rejects idol worship of ideology, symbols, and dogma that does not create more enlightened human beings...and for that I am so damn proud and when I look at him I think, "I guess I would be an okay mother...he turned out pretty fucking great!" 4:38 a.m. - 2012-04-06 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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