Dr. D will be on vacation next week. When he goes on vacation it usually means I’m on vacation. I don’t work on any issues or anything. It may be a bit different this time because I have a few profiles to write.

Ariel Michelle talked to Dr. D most. She talked about Cuba, Spain and England. She talked about Zaire, food and not knowing our mother as a person. We talked about all the stuff that comes flooding back when you lose someone, some silly, some significant. She admitted that our grandfather was not an innocent bystander in the household. Though my mother was very tall, much taller than her other sisters, they were very close in age, stair steps they were called. She told me he went into her room, she told me her sisters had a ‘dream’ he went into their room. That paled in significance to what their mother was doing. A domineering, sadistic cow, a perfect example for her daughters.

Ariel Michelle rocked back and forth, refused eye contact and stumbled over her words nervously. It took about 15 min or so for her to settle into the session and tell him about our anxiety. She then talked more about the mother.

I’d give almost anything to hear my mother sing again. I wish she knew that. I wish I could know that she understood what I said to her the last time I saw her. Did she understand that I love her? Was she too far gone to understand the words were true and she need not fear that I’d ever hurt her? Through Alzheimer’s could she at least hear the truth in my voice? I don’t think so because she asked, “Do you still think I abused you?” I said, “I didn’t come to talk about that.” I was there to say goodbye. For the love of Pete, I wasn’t supposed to live. I was walking very close to the edge with Lupus and it took everything I had to get down to see her. I didn’t know what I was walking into. I didn’t know she had been robbed, and that Alzheimer’s took her hostage.

I can feel my arms around her that day, crying on her neck. She was stunned. She didn’t know I was about to walk up to her, no idea at all. I wish the woman who raped me, tortured me, frightened me and abandoned me could have, for just a second, heard me say I love you. What difference does it make? Why does it matter that my primary abuser know how I really feel? It was like, if I held her tightly enough she might feel my heart beat. If I held her tightly enough she would feel the intensity. It had to seep from my skin, bead off me and form undeniable proof that there is purity in me. If i could hold her long enough, tight enough we’d kill everything horrible, and when we let go we’d be new people, there’s nothing bad. Poof! All gone! I still believe in fairy-tales…….. we all do……

Ariel Michelle wants to see the fog collect at the North York Moors National Park. She wants to wonder. She wants to see Spain again as a final goodbye to our mother. My brother went there before his death. Ariel Michelle doesn’t want to kill herself after visiting Spain, she just wants to put the worse of our memories in the ground there. It’s a place my family loves very much. It would be awesome to write things down, put them in a box and bury them in the field, abandon them in that place, a place she and her mother love.

Any other travel we’d rather do by tasting the earth by way of tea grown in different soil at different altitudes, different water sources, different days of picking (first leaf).

We’ll do our profiles over the week we have off.

I’ve got to sleep.

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