“I don't ask why, I ask why not”. A quote from Dr. Phil that has always stuck with me. My thoughts today bring me to this. 7 weeks watching and waiting for my dad to die in a palliative care room. Also looking at and watching the one picture of a grandchild sit by his death bed and watch that grandchild be praised to everyone who entered. That grandchild, my nephew is also my daughters abuser. It is my fault this hurt me as I didn't tell my parents about this abuse. Some how we didn't want to cause the devastation in my parents. I always thought the child and I wanted this. Now I realize that may have been my mind. Maybe I didn't want to put it on them or perhaps I did not want to deal with it. Either way it happened and it added a layer to the 7 weeks. During this time my new to me car, that my dad had purchased from his friend a few short months before, was breaking down. I later learned the car was useless. I wasn't bringing this issue into the room so I placed it nicely beside the picture, deep within my being. My mother was cracking under all the goings on with dad and was acting crazy at times. So of course I opened myself up and placed that with the picture and the car. All the while my teenage daughter was at home alone raising herself for the most part. I was a better mother than that, I know and knew better. At that time though it went inside on that shelf with the picture, car, and my moms crazy. Now, as I reflect back, and beat myself up for, my teenaged daughter who was left alone by ME was also being lured, exploited and abused by someone we trusted. Someone we looked at like family. A person of authority. (Wow that was a lot. As I wrote that the hairs on the back of neck stood to attention. A person of authority, said nephew abuser went on to be a member of a police force. Had I done the right thing at the time, a police officer he would not have become) So why would I not be where I am today based on those 7 weeks alone. There were other stressors as well, I was off work without pay for almost the entirety of those 7 weeks. The mental game of waiting in a hospital for someone to die. The guilt when you had moments of wishing it would happen. Seeing people around us (other rooms) come and go, rather quickly and we waited. So yah, I am learning piece by piece how I got here. I still question how I made it this far. How did I even survive to reach the perfect storm? That thought blows my mind. I have to be something, strong, eh I dunno. Maybe its just best to say I am something! With hope, one day I can add the word special to it and believe it!
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