Saturn

Authority

Truth & Consequences

So far in my story, I have told of those parts of myself everyone’s stories include. There is Authority in everyone’s stories, too. But whether we ever become aware of any of the other aspects of ourselves depends on this particular one. There is a big difference in always deferring to outside authorities and claiming to be one’s own. That difference is the foundation for being self governing. Being self governing is the foundation of civilization, for civilization is a consequence of people responding to others in a civil and respectful way.

When we’re not self governing, when we deny claiming responsibility and accountability for our own Volition, when we rely on outside sources to discipline and control our choices and responses, it results in misnomers and illusions such as ‘peacekeepers’.

Far be it for me to question why something that doesn’t exist needs to be kept. Like Peace. But in my story’s Society, we spent a lot of money and time doing it.

But that isn’t the worst part about denying our personal and individual responsibilities. The worst part is the self destruction and sorrow that comes with it. The waste in human potential for experiencing such states as fulfillment and bliss. The squandering of our planet’s most precious resource, it’s people.

Like my Mother and Father’s potentials were limited. Like my Brother and Sister’s potential were limited. The reason why I was asked by both my Father and Mother to do what I could to rectify the situation for future generations of the Family. Hearing my story may give my reader insight into what fuels my Courage. The Courage to express what we don’t want to hear. The Courage to bring to Light what a lot of us would prefer remained hidden in the Dark.

I was taught from a young age, by example of my Father, about ’responsibility’, ’stewardship’ and ’custodianship’. Responsible meant making decisions that were based on the welfare of the whole family, not just one person in it. There was one exception: Mom. But I’ll get to that part of my story, later.

I didn’t realize it at the time but, I was extremely lucky. My Father had been raised according to the tradition of the Freemasons. He was an Nth generation German Freemason. Even though he converted to Catholicism to marry Mom, there was quite a bit to his value system and, the Value system he taught me, that was not a result of Catholic dogma.

Little did I know it, for he didn’t ever speak of these things. He had made a promise to raise me Catholic and, he was a man of his Word. It would be decades after his death, that I would discover the Freemasonry heritage of the family. It was then I came to understand what all the lectures had been for and about.

Like I said, there was one exception to his rule. Mom. Upsetting Mom was the quickest way to get into trouble with Dad. Dad was usually a good natured fellow but had a temper when riled. Mom got her way.

I found out why years later, one afternoon as I sat in the backyard with my Mother, as I often did as her Alzheimer’s progressed, listening as she expressed herself, before she totally forgot who herself was. That afternoon her attention turned to my Brother. My self absorbed, self indulgent, irresponsible older Brother. Who had decided to move in with her just as soon as our Dad had died.

My Mother talked about how guilty she felt for him growing up to be the kind of man he was or was not, as the case may be. She said her strongest feelings were of regret. She regretted she hadn’t realized her mistake before Dad died, so she could have apologized to him.

She poured her heart out to me in tears. She described how she had treated my Dad, whenever he attempted to discipline my Brother, when it came to being responsible. She’d weep, she’d cry and when that didn’t work, she used the silent treatment for days, until Dad would cave in and comply with her request. Now that she saw what kind of person my brother was, she understood what she had done. It was her mistake, that she was now having to live with. She saw the Truth when she had to live with the Consequences.

I assured her that Dad understood. He wouldn’t want her to suffer so with guilt and remorse.

Then she turned to express her regrets to me. I asked her why and she responded by saying she was asking me and, counting on me to take care of ‘the problem’ for her. She knew in her mind she would soon be past all caring or knowing and, that would leave me face to face with him, as her Power of Attorney. She asked me to do what she had recognized she hadn’t been wise enough to do.

I gave her my Word, I would. And she knew she could Trust my Word, I had been trained well by Dad. He and I had spent many hours over the last months of his life, preparing me to take over as Steward for Mom. One of the strongest things about my Dad, was his Faith. He knew I could carry the load, he had Faith in me. I had proved it many times over.

Like the afternoon he lay in his hospital bed, just waking up after exploratory surgery, to find me beside his bed but not Mom.

“Well, what did the Doctors find out?”

“The tumor is inoperable Dad.”

“How long do they give me to live?”

“6 months, Dad.”

I remember he took a big sigh and laid back down in his bed. “How’s your Mother taking the news?”, he asked.

“Not very well,” I said. “I called her Doctor and explained what was going on and had his office phone in a prescription for something to calm her down. Then called her friend to come pick her up, get her prescription and take her home, while I waited here for you to wake up.”

“She’ll be fine, she has you. Now, at the time of my death, my Faith has been proved. I’ve always desired to be the one to die first, I just know I couldn’t live without her. And I wanted some time to prepare. It is Gift you bring me.”

“It sure doesn’t feel like it, Dad. Mom crumbled and I know that my heart aches at being the one to deliver the news. I love you, too. You‘re my Daddy and you‘re going away.

But you know me. I won’t show it. I won’t express it. Because I have to stay strong in order for all of us to get through it. I‘m the anchor of stability for the family that you‘re counting on. “

“Because I know you can do it.”

“You also know I’m not tough. I just act tough. There’s very much a part of me that would have liked to go home with Mom, with pills to help me escape from reality, too.”

“But you’re here.”

“Yes, I’m here. As you knew I would be. I’m the trashcan child. Whenever there’s something awful, something unpleasant to deal with, I’m the one it’s dumped on.”

“Because you can carry it. Because you can deal with it. Responsibility is never placed on shoulders that can’t handle it. You know that. You’re all I’ve got and thank God I‘ve got you.

I know you’re not tough but you do know how to govern your self expression. You claim authority over it. Your stable, mentally and emotionally. In any crisis, you’re a rock for other people because of how much you love them. You know how to make and enact decisions that would be difficult for most people.

You also guard yourself very well, so as never to give even the slightest appearance of weakness. My hope for you is that one day you won’t feel like you need to.”

“It’s hard to be an anchor for others while drowning in the waters myself.”

“Exactly.”

“You’ll excuse me for sounding ungrateful but exactly what do I get out of all of this? I get responsible and accountable, the rest of the family gets self indulgent and emotive.”

“You get to be the One Chosen to share the most precious Gift of my lifetime with me“, he said with tears welling in his eyes. “My Faith has been proved to me beyond a shadow of doubt. And you have been the one to not only deliver that Gift of Faith but, to also share in the revelation of it, with me.”

That was the first and last time we ever talked of his death. From then, until the day he died, more then 6 months later, our conversations were about business and family responsibilities. I knew when he died, he died feeling like a winner. He had lived more then the 6 months. That had been his last desire.

By the time I was 30 years old, both of my parents had delegated their Authority to me, in Trust. Dad asked me to take care of Mom and Mom asked me to correct what she saw as her mistakes.

My Authority figures asked me to become my own Authority, Mother and Father for the Family, carrying with it all the responsibility and accountability that went with it.

I knew both had done the best they knew how and, counted on me to make improvements. Their shoulders were my foundation in Life. They wanted me to reach as far as I could, for the next generation to use as their foundation. That’s how I was taught. That we are custodians of Life, seeking always to improve it and passing on those improvements to further generations.

My first challenge came in the form of my brother. He was a result of self doubt. He had always preyed on Mom’s doubt as to whether she was a good Mom. He’d throw his fits and hurl accusations at her, (all the while Dad wasn’t there), when ever he didn’t get his way. He’d threatened to leave and would. Leaving Mom in emotional torture for years at a time, not knowing where he was or if he was even alive. And feeling Guilty every minute that she didn’t hear from him, blaming herself for not loving him enough.

Since I had been a witness to all this, empowered by the Authority given me, I let him know I didn’t care if he left and never came back. Dad had paid for him to get two degrees, one of them in Chiropractic medicine and at age 46, he had never held a job in his life. He had always sponged off the family and other people. We did without, Mom did without, in order for him to get an education. And all he’d ever done is continually ask for more and throw a fit when he didn’t get it.

I decided it was time he learned how to support himself. Mom wasn’t around to manipulate anymore, leaving me in charge. I didn’t have any doubts about being a good Mother to him. I wasn’t his Mother. I was his little sister who had been witness to the games he played with Mom and Dad. Trained by Dad, who he never did get along with. It was when Dad told him to go out and get a job, that my brother always threw his fit, triggering Mom’s insecurities. I stopped his game at the start of it by not having any insecurities for him to prey upon.

I decided he could develop his own resources instead of always draining others of theirs. Seeds had been planted and the field watered, I was ready to see something harvested from all of it.

I also had my older sister’s welfare to consider. As handicapped as she was, she had always been responsible and accountable, using all the resources she possessed at least trying. She was my Brother’s next target. But he could only get to her through me. And none of the previous tactics he used on Mom, worked on me. I didn’t seem to care about being called a Villain.

In the days between me enacting this new family policy and him finally choosing to leave the family home of his own will, in one of his lucid moments, he actually thanked me. We’d had a fight and in his words, I’d crucified him. I nailed him to his cross with the nails he provided. It was what he needed in order to face that he didn’t know what a man his age should know. He said Mom and Dad hadn’t done him any favors giving in to his fits. After saying that, he quietly went back to his room and the next day, went out to get a job.

While he may have been living in the family home and, calling it his, I was the one responsible for it. I had simply told him his free ride was over. It was time he learned how to create abundance instead of living off other people’s. Alzheimer’s was expensive and that‘s where Mom‘s funds were going, to take care of her. I had children of my own. My resources were going to take care of them, not him.

And our Sister’s resources, well…she was doing a fantastic job in supporting herself. He wasn’t going to sponge off her. I even pointed out the ridiculousness of his wishes. He had two college degrees and my Sister, barely a high school diploma from attending special education classes. HE couldn’t stand on his own two feet but SHE could. He would get no sympathy from me. A lesson long denied him hit Home.

He told me once when people are of no use to him, he leaves and doesn’t speak to them for the rest of his life. In that statement alone, he told me what value ‘family’ had always been. I had suspected his values in life were skewed ever since I heard him describe a girlfriend as just like Mom. She had big boobs and great looking legs. I remember it took great restraint for me not to pound him into the ground for that remark, in full denial of Mom’s Virtue of character.

The last thing I offered him was a niece to hold in his arms, someone to call him ‘uncle’. But since that’s all I had to give, I had no money to spare, I haven’t heard from him since. Neither has my Sister. And that was 13 years ago this month.

Do I judge him? No. I understand him. I understand how he got to be the way he is. Or maybe was, I don’t know. It hurts to wonder.

I got to witness the whole dysfunctional play. With the last act of the play being all the players recognizing it was a dysfunctional play. And me giving my Word to ‘make it right’ for the next generation.

What my Sister and I learned from Dad was being self governing. What my Brother learned from my Mom, was a lack of it. Both taught the power of Faith. They simply each had Faith in different things. My Dad believed in Forgiveness, while my Mom believed in Guilt.

Dad had been a balance for Mom but when he was gone, she found herself alone with her Guilt. And it’s Guilt, that sabotaged both my Mom’s life and my Brother’s.

Mom had been taught from an early age that to be less then ‘perfect’, meant being rejected and punished. Her Authority in life during her early years was The Church. As any Catholic knows, it’s a whip of Guilt, applied often and generously, that leads to Heaven. That’s the cost of imperfection.

Most of my Mom’s life was lived in fear and insecurity about whether she was a ‘good‘ person as a result of such teachings. And seeing her terrorized by her fears in the depths of her dementia, was my ultimate sorrow.

That’s why I really don’t care how many toes I step on Now. Or how many may choose to be appalled by my story. Both my Parents had been taught to believe through threats of dire consequences if they didn‘t, in a God, an Ultimate authority figure outside of themselves, that was nothing more then an over bloated and emotionally insecure farce. God the Asshole.

And after all I’d been through and seen, I certainly wasn’t going to be afraid to go tell any such ‘god’, or any of his minions, to shove it. Especially since I hadn’t seen nor heard ANY responsibility or accountability being claimed for shoveling these kind of beliefs into the minds of people, through the use of force.

It didn’t work on me. For unknown to either Mom or Dad, I was sexually molested by two Priests at a very early age. They had been left as Trusted babysitters. I learned from these men, not to believe in anything they said or represented. I considered it stupid to accept known liars as any kind of authorities on Truth. And the one thing my Mom and Dad never raised me to be, was stupid.

It was because Dad was emotionally insecure that he denied and sacrificed himself to Mom. It was because Mom was insecure that she denied and sacrificed herself to my Brother. It was because my Brother was insecure that he expected me to deny and sacrifice my self for him. And I was just mean enough not to do it.

It was because I wasn’t emotionally insecure that my family asked me to deal with the issue.

The issue of emotional manipulation and of what kind of person or being, that has any use for it. The only ones that fit the job are those of us who are limited when it comes to understanding and embracing Humanity. Starting with our own.

It was what my Mom didn’t know how to do. But my Dad did. Because Mom believed in a mean spirited God and, my Dad didn’t. My Mom’s last days were spent in a personal hell of guilt and remorse. My Dad’s last days were spent in a celebration of his faith.

Turns out both were the ultimate authorities over their own lives and how those lives were going to be experienced.  They empowered me to choose for myself.  So I chose Unconditional Love.  I choose the Lily, not the thorns.  MY Mother cried enough because of those thorns.

I Love you Mom.

You were a wonderful person and Mother.

And model of my own imperfection.

Thank you for adopting me.