Mother's Day

DENIAL

The biggest lesson I’ve ever been exposed to in my lifetime is that the denial of a problem, challenge, or issue, has long term – potentially catastrophic affects that touch the lives of everyone.

Denial, a very powerful mental defense mechanism, originated so skillfully in the mind, can be as impenetrable as any known physical substance.

Accessing the mind to crack the resolve of denial seems to be the prognosis. However, the likelihood of success seems minimal. Security behind the wall of denial is state-of-the art, cutting edge, savvy, and is able to learn and regenerate organically to fend off intruders and defend the source that the psyche must protect, at all costs, even life.

At the end of the day, she’s my mother. At the end of the day, I have my own denials. I have my own security company working to protect my deepest darkest hurts and secrets. At the end of the day I am no better, just different. I am challenged with different circumstances, different stressors, different, but the same.

I stood by and saw her at the pivotal moment. The moment when the pain, that would need a wall of denial built six feet thick and wide, would be constructed on the inside and outside of herself to protect the hurt that I watched get inflicted. I was there when the atrocity happened. I watched. I was there. I ran with her. I held her hand and felt her tenderness so big, her grasp on my small hand squeezing so tightly I could barely breathe. I remember it all so vividly. I remember the thunderous word clouds that lingered overhead before the rain. I remember the pain, it started as a slow trickle, growing faster and faster, wilder and madder. It reigned on her and on all of us through a foggy alcohol induced storm. There was no way to escape the hurricane inside the house, so we ran out. The storm attempted to follow, but exposed to the light of the sun, the fresh air, the odd eyes of the world, it was unable to sustain, and with one final gesture fury disabled our car, cursed, and retreated. We ran away, found shelter within public service. We got a new home, new stuff. We let fury die. Fury did die, slowly. Years later his offspring, the one carried during the battering, would bear witness to Fury’s physical death, I refused to attend the funeral. Fury, he had changed me by then and I no longer needed a father for the rage I bore.

 

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