Do I wish my mother would have loved me, or at least liked me? Of course, who wouldn't? I've done remarkably well for an individual that has never had any degree of healthy, consistent, unconditional love.
I know my mom knew about the incest as she witnessed it a few times. Regarding the excessive physical abuse, both my parents were totally on board with that.
I have come to believe that my mother was incapable of loving me, one of her daughters whereas I think she was able to love her sons. Her, oh hatred isn't the right word, maybe I should say distaste and dislike for her daughters stemmed from her own abusive childhood? I'm just guessing here. There are a few indicators that I can recall. Once, mom told me she wore all black for a year in high school. To me that is a serious cry for help rather than a fashion statement. Goth was simply not in during the late 50's.
I remember asking two of my mom's sisters what beloved Grandma was like when mom was growing up. They said that both gram and gramps spent most of their time working and weren't very attentive. I picked up the impression that my mom may have been treated harshly and frequently called names like "cow" although she didn't appear overweight in any photos I saw. Mom seems to have mentioned being called names and put down by her parents here and there.
I can't say if my maternal grandfather was an abuser or not. I don't have enough info. My recollections are that once gramps, who spent a considerable amount of time at the public pool, was asked to leave the pool and not come back due to inappropriate contact with two minors. I was in the kitchen when mom received the phone call probably from grandma. I remember mom was upset about this and turned to my younger brother. She held his shoulders and told him that "under no circumstances was he to be alone with grandpa." Gosh, I'm surprised how clear and serious her words were. The look on her face suggested that she fully believed the allegations she had just heard on the phone.
The third red flag was when I was one of many in the car with gramps as he picked up my aunt from work at the mall. My aunt got in the front seat. She was upset about something. Next thing I know she blurts out loud, "Well I wouldn't have to be with a woman if you hadn't done what you did to me!" Years later I asked my other aunt about these memories. She adamantly stated that I heard wrong. Maybe I did. Maybe she was in denial. I honestly don't know.
If my mom was a victim, who married another victim, well, that would explain my dire childhood. I don't think I can hate anyone, even mom, if she was wounded and do damaged that she didn't have the capacity to love me. Maybe I should feel good in the knowledge that I wasn't loved for anything I did or didn't do...I was unloved because mom was too hurt.
I need to think about that for awhile...it feels big...groundbreaking, heart-mending big.
