Dramatic change, love, hatred "possible triggers"

Dramatic change, love, hatred "possible triggers"
A

andrew51

Registrant
My dear old mother is almost 88 years old now. She is very frail, has congestive heart failure and is battling cancer. She is kind, full of love, a wonderful grandmother and a caring friend and parent to me. She relies on me to help her walk, take her to her doctor's appointments and lift her in and out of the car. She trusts me to help her with the major decisions in her life. Essentially, I am the parent and I love her and am grateful for her. It wasn't always this way. Age and physical limitations changed her, mostly age I think. There was a time when she was very unloving, uncaring, violent. As a child I was terrified of her and was the frequent target of her rages and psychological and physical assaults. She made me wish I was dead for large portions of my childhood, and in many ways I was dead. She failed almost every test of what a good parent should be, including protecting me from a grandfather who had a track record of molesting children. I lived in fear and even as I write this I am afraid to remember too much. I just don't want to go back there. But part of me is screaming in anger. I just want to fucking kill her, this bitch! To kill the memories of what once was. To kill what she was. I know that sounds terrible. How could a small part of me want to harm such a lovely, gracious, elegant old lady? 99.9% of the time I never think such horrible thoughts or feel such unspeakable anger. Why? Because she is no longer that person from my childhood. She changed and has no resemblance to that monster. Her spirit is different. Where her eyes used to burn coldly with anger and her face used to contort in a hideous rage; she now looks at me with love and cuddles and soothes my children. Her rage is replaced with sensitivity and patience. She is a different person. Completely different, no resemblance. If it wasn't for the fact that my adopted brother and my cousin have the same memories of her, I would think that I was delusional. This past Friday I turned 54 years of age. Almost 38 years have passed since I left home and made my own way in life. I'm not the same person as that 16 year old who left home after CAS intervention. And clearly my mother isn't the same lady I remember. Do I forgive her? I don't know that I have. I'm not able to reconcile the lady of the last 20 or 25 years, and in particular the last 10 years, with the mother of my childhood. The mother I know now doesn't require forgiving. She bears no resemblance to the lady who would pick up lacrosse sticks and hockey sticks to beat me with. So I guess this begs the question. Is it possible that people and perhaps even sexual perpetrators can change in such a dramatic way? And if like my mother, they can change so dramtically, to be, in every meaningful way, a different person. Does this minimize what they did? I am more than a little confused by this. And as I sit here in front of the computer screen, I feel a sickness in my stomach and a little like one of those characters from Twilight Zone. Peace, Andrew
 
Andrew what a spot to be in.

Could it be that maybe, just maybe, your mother was a survivor of SA from that grandfather. I know that I have often, in the past, directed most of my rage at those I love the most.

In all honesty I do not think that a tiger can change its stripes. Perps, to my way of thinking, are only concerned with themeselves. I dont think your Mom was ever a perp . Just my 2 cents worth.
 
Mike, no, Mum wasn't a victim of SA, the grandfather was my Dad's father ... and yes, it is possible my father was a victim. Peace, Andrew
 
Andrew, I thought the same thing as Mike until I read your reply. What I don't understand is. Why did your father not stop the grandfather?

I remember the abuse could have turned me into a monster, I could have wreaked havoc, but I didn't, I just bottled it all up, and tried to live a life where people would love me for who I was.

I think it is right that Violence begets violence, Love begets love etc., your mother is old and frail now, she knows you care so much about her, maybe the past is lost to denial, maybe she cannot recall the past given her age. If she does, then is it not that she feels so humble that you care so much?

The other point is, about the perps. I don't think a leopard can change it's spots, but that is only my opinion.

It is such a pity where we grow as kids, and really want to be out of it. It is no way for a kid to be when he sees all his friends thriving. Been there, done that, it stinks, but we got through.

Look after your mum, maybe you show her now, how she should have been as a mother. Love and protection, something she never knew.

ste
 
Thanks Ste,
My Dad is one of those guys who takes the path of least resistance. He hasn't said a bad word about anyone in his whole life. He is in total denial about anything nasty or uncomfortable. He avoids confrontation at all costs. His sisters claim that he was their saviour when they were little and they absolutely adore him. He is the consummate gentleman. There is no doubt in my mind that he was abused. For all his wonderful qualities, he has absolutely no memories of his childhood, absolutely none! Peace, Andrew
 
Andrew, my Dad was a wonderful father to me. He couldn't have been better to me. He was kind. He was an invalid. He was a saint. We were different, but he never let that bother him. He let me be my own person. He was all of those things...after my early childhood. When my memories came back, and I realized what he had done to me and the horrible things he had said to me when I was a small child, I couldn't believe that it could have been the same man. I didn't until last week admit to myself that he was my main P. My abuse stopped when he became a quadraplegic...it's amazing how that happens. Forgive him? I still can't blame him. I would love to hate him. I try to hate him. I hate the things he did to me. I have a horrible rage inside me because of those things. But part of me can't get rid of the later image of him. I keep thinking that such a wonderful man must have had a reason for doing that to his son. Maybe he was distraught over the fact that he was supposed to be dead in two years. Maybe he had been abused himself and the disease sent him over the edge. But nothing of the saint he became can make up for the monster he was. Yes, your mother is sweet and caring now and a whole different person, but if there is any justice, she remembers what she did to you, and behind those soft, sensitive eyes there is a great deal of sorrow and regret for the damage she did to a little boy.
 
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