Here I sit, Esme is asleep across my feet - her way of not letting me out of her sight unnanounced - and needing to do 2 things. 1. Hit the "open" button on the 2010 Tax Return software and 2. Catch my flight on the next space shuttle. Since I'm not at all packed for my trip to the moon that would leave option #1.....for a few more minutes anyway!
I need to back up in my story a bit to give you more of an idea of how my uncle worked his way into our world. I had forgotten to mention that 2 years prior to my mother leaving Swift Current her mother had died quite suddenly. Her trip to Vernon to bury her mother was the first time that she had reconnected with some of her siblings - one of them being her brother, my eventual torturer. She was quite taken with him I think. He was very urban and quite successful at his career. Perhaps the most defining moment for her during that occasion was the night right after my Grandmother's burial. Each of her 9 children had taken a red rose from the casket spray and somehow during the night my uncle realized that he had lost his rose. In the middle of a February night he walked quite a distance to the cemetary, found her grave and took another rose from the spray of flowers laying on top of her grave. My mother, being ever maternal, thought that this was the most heroic and stoic event and she spoke almost reverantly about him after she returned home. He called our home a few times - family squabbles regarding the will, etc. had begun in earnest and he was the one sibling that my mother seemed to believe in and even told him on the phone that he was her favourite brother. There was a large age difference between the 2 of them and I really think that my mother conveyed a message of "motherly" love to my uncle. I think that he knew that but I also think that he knew that he had his "foor in the door" to my world. At that point all he would have had known about me was the what the family photos that my mother took with her to Vernon would have shown. A hunter stalks his prey, slowly, quietly, never wanting to step on a branch or a twig that could shatter the silence and catch the calm, gentle doe feeding on the grass. No, the hunter has patience, the hunter waits to have that doe in the crosshairs of his scope, waits for that moment when she is singled out from her herd and unsuspecting of any tragedy about to befall her - he waits until he has the perfect clean shot - and then...........
Monday, March 28, 2011
Saturday, March 26, 2011
And so it begins........
Oh my.....still recovering from a rather major "crash". Life handed me the perfect storm of about 5 things all at one time and my boat was swamped and no life jacket to grab onto. Without sounding like a big drama queen - this was a physical and emotional slap upside the head. Physically - it never even occured to me that my thryoid issue could be having a flare up - normally I can feel it in my throat within days of the levels risisng but I guess I missed the signs of this one 'cause it was a beauty. I had gone to the doctor looking like a homeless person - 2nd day of the same pajamas, head by bed, and eyes that looked like the rings of Saturn. I held myself together long enough for him to shut the door and then all bets were off. I have the best doctor and he never just pats me on the head and suggests it might be "stress". He's been on this long journey with me and he knows that when I crash - I crash. He asked me the question that all doctors have to ask their patients who look like I did - "Do you feel you are in danger of hurting yourself?". No, I'm not finished with a few people yet so I'm staying around to see how that all plays out. ( to say “yes” gets you a one way ticket to the pysch ward in Langley which is about the worst place in the world to ever end up. Never say “yes”) Then he looked at his computer screen and reminded me that my 6 month check of my TSH levels was about 13 months overdue so how about I pop over to the lab on the way home and have that done. Off I went to the lab - still looking like a hobo, in fact a little too off the wall because the tech that was taking my blood actually looked at my Medic Alert bracelet and asked if I was diabetic - and then I dragged my butt back home still full of despair and anxiety and the insidious fear that PTSD leaves you with. Well, bit of shock the next day when the dr's office calls and asks me to get my butt back down there ASAP. This time I actually was dressed! I sat down in the same chair, feeling the same "I can't fight this anymore" feeling, when in came the dr with a smile on his face and the words "good news - your TSH levels are 3 times higher than they should be!" I swear my jaw hit the floor - I was totally shocked. Not only was I dealing with wacked out TSH levels but that issue also played havoc with my regular meds and basically nothing was acting like it was supposed to. New prescription for my thyroid pills which sadly, take a few weeks to build up enough in my system to actually start working and orders for a new blood draw in 2 months. This could take awhile to find the amount of meds I have to take to compensate for what my body isn't making to bring the level back down to "normal". Somehow tho' having a logical answer for my illogical feelings was very soothing.
And while my body was running its own personal little horror show 2 events occured within days of each other that kinda blew my heart apart. I can cope with the physical and the emotional just not all at one time. Mix the two and I'm done like dinner.
Time to pick up the thread of the story where I last left off - my family moving to BC. It was arranged that I would fly out to see them just before I left for University in the fall. My mother was settled into a rental home in Coquitlam that some friends of hers had helped her find. Life seemed to be sorting itself out for the 4 of them - at least on the exterior. My mother had also made contact with her brother and sister that lived in Vancouver and North Vancouver. I had met my uncle once when I was quite young and did not really remember him. He was quite a bit younger than my mother and they had never really connected as siblings. She was however quite enjoying seeing her family again and invited my uncle and his then girlfriend over to dinner while I was visiting. I answered the door to find a very handsome, Westside/Kitsilano guy with a very attractive girlfriend named Barbara. As the evening wore on the conversation took a bit of a turn and I found myself being complimented and spoken to by my uncle somewhat as if we were 2 strangers and he was trying to "pick me up". He complimented me far more than I think would be considered "normal" and paid more attention to me than to his girlfriend. When they left at the end of the evening his hug goodbye was more than the perfunctory family hug. Odd. This all took place in my mother's living room in front of everyone there.
Over the years I have learned the term "grooming". Grooming is the process where abusers slowly worm their way into their victim's world, it's such a subtle process that no one even notices, especially the victim. Most pedofiles and family abusers don't make a move on their target right away - they need to earn the "trust" of the victim and slowly and insidiously suck them into their eerie world of wickedness. That evening, in front of my family and his girlfriend, my uncle had begun the "grooming" process.
And while my body was running its own personal little horror show 2 events occured within days of each other that kinda blew my heart apart. I can cope with the physical and the emotional just not all at one time. Mix the two and I'm done like dinner.
Time to pick up the thread of the story where I last left off - my family moving to BC. It was arranged that I would fly out to see them just before I left for University in the fall. My mother was settled into a rental home in Coquitlam that some friends of hers had helped her find. Life seemed to be sorting itself out for the 4 of them - at least on the exterior. My mother had also made contact with her brother and sister that lived in Vancouver and North Vancouver. I had met my uncle once when I was quite young and did not really remember him. He was quite a bit younger than my mother and they had never really connected as siblings. She was however quite enjoying seeing her family again and invited my uncle and his then girlfriend over to dinner while I was visiting. I answered the door to find a very handsome, Westside/Kitsilano guy with a very attractive girlfriend named Barbara. As the evening wore on the conversation took a bit of a turn and I found myself being complimented and spoken to by my uncle somewhat as if we were 2 strangers and he was trying to "pick me up". He complimented me far more than I think would be considered "normal" and paid more attention to me than to his girlfriend. When they left at the end of the evening his hug goodbye was more than the perfunctory family hug. Odd. This all took place in my mother's living room in front of everyone there.
Over the years I have learned the term "grooming". Grooming is the process where abusers slowly worm their way into their victim's world, it's such a subtle process that no one even notices, especially the victim. Most pedofiles and family abusers don't make a move on their target right away - they need to earn the "trust" of the victim and slowly and insidiously suck them into their eerie world of wickedness. That evening, in front of my family and his girlfriend, my uncle had begun the "grooming" process.
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