Silence Makes You Sick, I Believe It Killed My Mother

Silence made my mother sick in fact I believe it killed my mother.

I am 11 years old.  I come home from church school and my fathers clothes are spread out all over the lawn.

The front door is wide open.  The Robins that usually greet me in the spring time have disappeared, even they know something is wrong.

I walk in the house my younger brother behind me.  Mom has the look, it’s that look that says I am far, far away and here at the same time.

“What are you doing with Dad’s clothes?” I ask.

“Your father is gay and people from the Seventh Day Adventist Church are coming to get him”.  Mom says.

She puts her hands through her hair and she is upset.

The only thing I know about being gay is that I have been told it is wrong.  My mind goes to a field trip my class at church school took to the Seattle Water front.  Someone pointed to two men kissing.

“Look the other way kids, that is not appropriate, it is of the devil”, my teacher said.

What is my mother talking about? How can this be? I think to myself.

“Mom, Dad is not gay” I say.

” What is going on?” I ask.

“Chet was showing naked pictures of me at my brothers wedding.” Mom says.

The only thing I know about Chet is that he was my mother’s step dad, a cop in Merced, California where my mother grew up, my mother hated him and I heard many stories from family members about how abusive he was.

“Naked Pictures?, Mom what are you talking about?”

“Never mind, go ride your horse” Mom says and I obey.

I know something is really wrong but I don’t know what to do.  I saddle up Destiny my quarter horse, he pushes air through his nostrils and shakes his head up and down.  Destiny loves our afternoon rides as much as I do.

Today I am not thinking about our ride I am thinking about my dad, being gay, the church coming to get him, naked pictures of my mother.

I keep one eye on the front lawn as I ride Destiny through the daffodil and tulip fields near my home in Puyallup, Washington.  Mount Rainer stands tall behind the foot hills,  I notice how big that mountain is.  I squeeze my

feet tight against  Destiny’s stomach and canter him as fast as I can.  I am prepared to run Destiny back to my driveway quickly when the church people come for my Dad.

The church people don’t come.  My dad is not gay.

 My grandmother and my mothers sister pull into the driveway.

They have driven 2 hours because my mother called them.  She told them about the naked photos, about my dad being gay, about the church coming for my dad.

” Be quiet, you are crazy talking” my grandma said.

I would later learn that my grandmother had a lot to hide.

When I think back to this scene of my 11 year old self trying to process what my mother was going through I see it as a gift.  My mother gave me a little insight into

Her childhood abuse.

My mother never talked about her abuse until she broke.  They called it a nervous break down in the 1980’s.

The put her on a heavy drug called Lithium.

She got even sicker and developed Encephalitis an inflammation of the brain.

She was never the same, she never came back. She was in and out of mental hospitals and she carried Encephalitis in her body.  In my heart I know the abuse she suffered made her sick.

Then the unimaginable happens and my father is murdered, my mother goes into a nursing home at the age of 37.  We live with family and friends.

I am 22 and my mother is dying.  She has had 3 strokes in a row.  Too much medicine, too many break downs, too much brain damage.  She is ready but I can tell that she won’t let go.

I know it is because of her abuse.

“Mom, what ever happened with your step dad it wasn’t your fault” I say.

“He abused you didn’t he?”  I ask.  I am  holding her hand and I don’t want to let her go but I know she has been through enough and it is time.

“Yes”, she says.  Mom shakes her head the tears fall.

“I am so sorry Mom,  it is not your fault, you didn’t deserve that”.

I hold onto her and my tears fall like a heavy Seattle rain and somehow all of her sickness makes sense.

“It’s ok for you to go”, I say.  ” I want  you to know that I know you felt guilty because of our religion but God is not our religion. What ever happened to you is not your fault, you didn’t cause it to happen” I say.

I am only 22 but inside I feel like I am 40.  I know things that most 22 year olds shouldn’t know.  I have seen so much.

My mother passed away on Jan 22, 1994.  I know the silence made her sick and in the end it killed her.

It is not just the Duggar’s.  It happens in so many families all over the world.

Silence is deadly.

If you don’t talk about it, it will not go away.

Religion and abuse can be so complicated for the victim.

I know for my mother the religion made her feel an incredible amount of guilt.   Like she should forgive and be over it.

Pray it out of her.

I don’t believe that God intended it to be that way.