Many of us have survived difficult childhood events and relationships. But add to survival a dark-factor, like the potential evils and barbarism of desperate starvation and isolation in Life of Pi, and thriving is questionable. It takes a complex mind to separate. We "dysassociate" and mind-split. Some events are never forgivable. Humanity is human.
People generally understand difficult times. They comprehend starvation, and thirst, and loneliness, and maybe even brutality. But there is an nth-degree, going beyond hurting another. It is unimaginable devouring that can happen in intangible ways, too. It is a complicated twist that is sometimes forgiven only later.
Being raised viewing various enabling and unhealthy co-dependencies aren't the only issues that children in alcoholic homes deal with at young, tender ages. The term "alcoholic home" is a sanitized label. In some homes, forces more powerful than alcoholism "complexitize" survival. Seemingly good, upstanding families can be paranoid and display dark passivity; sexual frigidity dynamics meet mega-denial. Mind -splitting and -numbing tactics are childhood survival techniques and powerful ways to sanely cope.
When a young boy is raised in a strict religious home, and, as a young adult, intentionally chooses to walk away from his upbringing and faith, it turns dangerous. He meets foreign powers and forces that were never in his childhood home. His marital promise to his betrothed: "Don't worry, I love my mother, but her rigid religion won't tell us what to do. I've got it all figured out"...
Dad's errant logic is permanently penned in a 65+-year-old love letter. He independently met humanity, with arrogant 20-something reasoning. He believed he didn't need God to captain his passage through manhood. He would eventually be engulfed.
Mom's family had no spiritual background whatsoever. The wedding ceremony was not performed in a starchy church facility. The Patriarch Father-of-the bride was strikingly absent from the ceremony; his scandalous, mid-1940s unfaithfulness, ugly divorce, and rebound re-marriage blotted out any possibility of spousal forgiveness or an official wedding invite. Mom surprisingly sides... with her charming Father. She marries a Type-A, like her perfectionist Mother. Maybe to subliminally mimic the simmering mother/daughter relationship.
To appease the "gods" as well as his nagging religious mother, Dad drags his family to a watered-down denomination a few times a year. Rather than a personal faith in God, he possesses a watered-down legacy or cultural faith. He works hard to show he loves his family. He is one of the pillars in the community displaying his intelligence and charm.
The stubborn newlyweds both run from their disenchanted pasts. Their differences first passively conflict, then chaotically, collide. Within 10 years (this is gory, so cover your eyes) each will attempt to figuratively pulverize the other's strangely strong will.
For 12 long years their offspring are randomly tossed and rocked, especially the vulnerable younger ones. Trauma alters their complex minds. They grow up feeling confused and lost, like castaways, with a mysterious, heightened awareness that might be labeled Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The past is neatly swept under the carpet, never to receive closure; until marriages and Mom's tragic 1990 funeral unleash a compelling disturbance in the force.
Their only hope through adulthood is to be overwhelmed... by a loving Savior and a strong God. This powerful God has somehow helped a writer, marooned on a meager wreckage constructed of life vests and oars, to eventually paddle to the safe shore. She arrives drained and questionably sane. The life-giving tiger slowly slinks into the woods, and her hope-filled race horse gallops off into the sunset, rider-less.
This child's mind was forever ransacked, by three generations of good people: parents, parents' parents, and grandparents' parents. They were engulfed by waves and unsuccessfully strived to fix humanity and wrestle with God. The generational buck stops here. I... willingly... yield.
"I'm sorry... for not stopping their madness." It is such an insufficient response. I, too, should feel pain, and I ask:
- Do Hollywood movies like Life of Pi jibe with my reality? I hope I haven't over-dramatized the past; its crippling impact is not exaggerated.
- Can my circular, foggy, frozen mind let go and forgive... myself?
- Why couldn't I have saved or fixed my family? I'm sorry!
- In the raisin years of my life, will I yield to God and my unhealthy self to wield the savory essence... of strength?
Matthew 11:28
Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
This postscript to the entry above is written 3 weeks and a huge awakening later. I now wonder if one of many factors in my parents' marriage was their complicated physical makeup as well as their 6 children's. I recall sibling rages (and mine), and schoolwork challenges. Were we extra difficult to raise because of environmental issues and food intolerance? Did Dad begin drinking because of frustration and disappointment with his children? Did he crave alcohol because of his allergies and then illogically "act out"? Dealing with special-needs children takes special patience as well as "a village" (Hillary Clinton). My parents disengaged from their parents. They were isolated, with no help. Information about food's negative affects on children's emotions was rare in the 60s. People understood symptoms like sneezing, asthma, and skin sensitivities... but what about erratic rages and depression? This is a generational thing that needs to stop. We deal with a new generation, with mysterious food intolerance. Lord, we need Your wisdom and supernatural help. Have mercy! It is easy to feel discouraged, yet, I yield and refrain from anesthetizing reality. Through my weakness God reveals himself as even stronger.
This postscript to the entry above is written 3 weeks and a huge awakening later. I now wonder if one of many factors in my parents' marriage was their complicated physical makeup as well as their 6 children's. I recall sibling rages (and mine), and schoolwork challenges. Were we extra difficult to raise because of environmental issues and food intolerance? Did Dad begin drinking because of frustration and disappointment with his children? Did he crave alcohol because of his allergies and then illogically "act out"? Dealing with special-needs children takes special patience as well as "a village" (Hillary Clinton). My parents disengaged from their parents. They were isolated, with no help. Information about food's negative affects on children's emotions was rare in the 60s. People understood symptoms like sneezing, asthma, and skin sensitivities... but what about erratic rages and depression? This is a generational thing that needs to stop. We deal with a new generation, with mysterious food intolerance. Lord, we need Your wisdom and supernatural help. Have mercy! It is easy to feel discouraged, yet, I yield and refrain from anesthetizing reality. Through my weakness God reveals himself as even stronger.
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