The sex thing bothers me. You had my first born examined at the tender age of five by a doctor who used the metal instrument used to examine the uterus because she complained of her vulva being irritated. You thought my husband was messing around with her? This exam was done while she was left in your care! I found out from my daughter. The irritation had been caused by a bubble bath. How could you do that?
Then I found out that you had accused my youngest sister of having sexual relations with Dad. How insane. I think you were jealous of his attention toward his daughter since you weren’t getting the most attention.
And then there was the potty training obsession. You were convinced that all children should be potty trained by the time they could walk to their potty. This was when I left my daughters in your care. You decided it was time for Tootsie to be potty trained. I don’t know what you did; there were no bruises. But she stuttered for six months after that baby-sitting adventure.
What was the business with enemas? How you had us children line up on a weekly basis and you would pump hot water up our asses? How did you get pleasure from that?
Vicki knew this was a fool’s errand, but she felt she had to ask Virginia to change. So she pleaded:
What makes the bad less offensive is when:
the doer acknowledges her actions
says she was wrong
asks forgiveness
If you do not do this in your present lifetime, you will leave that evil lingering and still felt by your offspring, and you will have to deal with it in your next life.
I am still doing this—asking forgiveness for wrongs. It’s part of the AA program.
I have been brave and said things no one else has probably dared to tell you. What you do with the information is your call.
Perhaps you could start writing letters to your children and grandchildren and tell them that you are truly sorry for any and all wrongs and that you love them. How about Thanksgiving at the ranch? You could include an invite with your note.
This could be the beginning of a NEW FAMILY—a healthy family who wants to live in harmony with one another.
For this to happen you will have to drop the false pride and say,
‘Vicki, yes there were times I was wrong about the way I behaved toward you and your Dad and the grandkids. I am truly sorry for anything I have done in the past to hurt you, your sisters, brothers, grandchildren and your father.’
You aren’t the only one who has been BAD. I remember when I first sobered up and joined AA. The first thing required by AA is to seek out the people you have harmed by your alcoholic behavior and apologize. Naturally my girls were first on the list. That’s when I discovered that they had both gone to counseling because of my behavior. And all the time I had been under the impression that I had been a good mother. It’s amazing how a person can be disillusioned.
Now that I’ve admitted my faults and said I was sorry and truly and deeply apologized I think they are beginning to remember the good things about their childhood. They tell me that they feel a lot stronger mother-daughter relationship.
* * *
Vicki sent the letter, minus the part about Hap’s parentage, to all of her siblings, and hand delivered it to her mother. Virginia never mentioned it and certainly never asked for forgiveness. However, it was the best therapy Vicki ever had. Sending the letter to her brother and sisters and then discussing it with Dr. Earl helped her to hand over the care and concern of Virginia to her sister Mary. Forever.
“I’m glad you’ve come to some closure, Vicki, about caring for your mother” Dr. Earl said at the next session. “Did you bring anything with you today that would absolve your mother, like I asked?”
The homework was for Vicki to find anything personal her mother had written that would help Vicki see that her mother was a person with feelings.
“Surprisingly, I found something she had written. It’s a little mysterious.”
“You want to read it?” Dr. Earl asked.
“Sure. I think my mom had attended a memoir writing class or something like that. I found this in a drawer in her favorite desk when she was out with friends.” Vicki held up a hand-written page.
“Let’s hear it.”
Vicki nodded and began,
A Train Ride
Every summer, I had to visit my Dad, who lived in Dayton, Ohio. I would usually take the train.
I was married and had a husband and several children at home when I made one trip. On my way home, after my visit, I was sitting in the observation car of the train when a handsome man sat down beside me.
We started talking and he held my hand. I think we covered every topic but sex and all that night he kept holding my hand. He never even tried to kiss me. When daylight came, the train was pulling into the St. Louis station. This is where we both had to change trains. He went his way. I went mine.
I never saw or heard from him again, but all I can remember is that he had more feelings in his hands than my husband had in his whole body! What a wonderful experience! This experience was a gift, a memory that will always be with me. It helped my self-esteem and made me feel alive.
“So, what did you think when you read that the first time?” Dr. Earl asked.
“Gosh, well, first I was surprised that Mom would even write about such an experience. It was sweet. Touching. But then I was a little pissed off that she was demeaning Dad and saying that this guy had more feelings in his hands than Dad had in his whole body. That’s so mean. That’s just not Dad.”
“Do you think perhaps your parents’ relationship with each other was more complicated than you ever knew?”
Vicki’s eyes widened, “Well, of course they were more complicated. She was such a maniac….is such a maniac…”
“Wait, Vicki, let’s try not to be judgmental. It could be that your mother has mental health issues and that you could examine what went on in your childhood with that lens.”
As they talked about Virginia, Vicki’s hatred for her eased, and she realized that just being able to give voice to her story made her stronger.
Soon after reading what the family eventually called “The Crazy Mother” letter, Virginia unexpectedly phoned Iris and told her “I do not dream nor do I cry. You know, you all expect me to be this blubbering moron, all helpless and sad. What is there to be sad about? Life is life. Death is death. Your Daddy used to tell me as I read the obituaries every morning, ‘person’s gotta die of something.’ He was right. We all die. No need to cry. Just a fact of life.”
Iris couldn’t help writing “I Do Not Weep” after that conversation.
I Do Not Weep
I do not weep
She told her daughter
I do not sleep
I do not dream
I do not weep
I take pride in my pride
Of eight
Yes, I’ve sold the land
Why not
Damned land
Filthy land
Mostly tho I’ve given it away
I’m a philanthropist
For the family
Bits—
my favorite…
I never hit her
That I remember
So she got the best
And the most
As she should.
She gave me so much
Love
Unlike her father
Wed to his religion
And his silly land
He betrayed me
He died first
I’ve been a good mother
Well fed
Well clothed
Ungrateful bastards
They better say I had a
Sense of humor
I love to laugh
I do not weep
* * *
Vicki had a long discussion with Mary about taking over Virginia’s care. Mary was a well-known, prosecuting attorney in Austin with two sons, a husband wed to his dental practice, and a bruising travel schedule. She had more than her share of responsibilities but regrettably she knew she needed to step in.
“Mary, I’m worn out,” Vicki said when she called. “I’ve cleaned up after Mom, suffered her cruel statements about me and others, fed her, taken her to the bank and her painting lessons, and done everything I can to keep from killing that damned woman.”
“What about Bits?” Mary asked.
“Bits? Are you kidding? She and Mom are the same. Selfish. Self-centered. There is no way Bits could care for anyone except herself. And her land-grabbing just continues. Until you step in and do something, Mary, she’ll take away all of your bequeathed property.”
“Why do you think she’ll take my property?”
“Well, she already has taken ten acres in an easement to the creek. Check it out. I talked with the surveyor the other day. She’s stealing your property bit by bit, pardon the pun.”
“You mean, she widened the road to the creek and took part of my property in that easement?” Mary was paying attention.
“Yes, told the surveyor it was so that her trucks can get into the vineyard.”
“You mean the faux vineyard?” Mary knew that there was no wine being created on Bits’ so-called vineyard. The wine was shipped in from Toronto, bottled and labeled on the ranch.
“In addition, whenever Mom and Bits get together, Bits gets larger and larger grants from Mom’s bank account. I saw a statement the other day that showed $50,000 was taken from Mom’s account. I checked with the bank, it was wired to Bits’ account!”
That did it. Mary agreed she needed to take over the care of their mom.
Vicki told Mary where she could find the keys to the house, all the legal and financial paperwork for Virginia, and the names and phone numbers of the neighbors.
“I cannot be the boss of a crazy person any longer.”
“I understand,” Mary said.
Mary immediately made decisions about her mother’s future care. She decided to move Virginia out of the ranch house and began working out the arrangements with nurses and healthcare aids to get Virginia the care she needed twenty-four hours a day at a luxurious retirement community close to the ranch.
“You would have thought she would have been kicking and screaming,” Mary told Iris one weekend. “But it only took near death to get her out of the fortress.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think Mom would go gently into the night,” Iris said.
Mary agreed. “It was a drama. I found out that Bits was trying to starve her to death.”
“What? Bits? I thought they were BFFs.”
“Yes, between the time Vicki stopped caring for her and I began getting her continuous care out there and then arranging for a new home, Bits was supposed to just make sure she had food to eat. Her friends would drop in to see her, and Patsy told me after three days that Mom had not had anything to eat or drink because Bits called the senior citizens club and told them to stop delivery.”
“You have GOT to be kidding.” Iris was incredulous.
“Nope,” Mary continued, “by the time I came to pick her up, Bits had taken some of the most valuable furniture and paintings, and I found Mom in a puddle of piss acting very out-of-it, kind of delirious.”
“So, that’s how you got her to the continuous care center?”
“The luxurious retirement community,” Mary corrected. “Yep. I don’t think it was a brilliant strategy of Bits’ to get her to move. I really think she was trying to kill Mom.”
“I don’t know why in the world I’m surprised. Or shocked.”
* * *
The transition from living at the ranch in a large home to a condo with a lot of people milling around was difficult at first, but Virginia warmed up to it and began to thrive after a couple of months.
As she told Mary one day, “I hated this hotel at first. But I like ‘the help’ and my friends. Father Gerard is a good man, and my lady friends who play gin with me are good fun.” Mary wondered why she didn’t mention a handsome older man who looked a lot like VF who ate lunch with her some days. Once she saw them holding hands.
Mary took over the bank accounts so that Virginia would be unable to continue to give hundreds of thousands of dollars away to Bits and bogus schemes; she obtained Power of Attorney.
She also learned that soon after VF’s death, Bits covertly created a new will that Virginia signed, giving one-half of Mary’s property to Bits upon their mother’s death. Making the change back to the original would bring a thimble of justice to her life. She asked a good friend of hers, a wills and estate attorney, to draw up the appropriate paperwork.
“Mom,” Mary asked one beautiful day in October after Virginia was comfortable in the plush new life of the hotel, as she called the retirement village, “why would you give the property that is supposed to be mine to Bits?”
“What are you talking about?” Virginia looked truly surprised by the question. It was morning, she had had her coffee, the view outside showed a bright and lovely day. Her mood was upbeat.
Mary held up the will. “This most recent will of yours gives Bits one-half of the land formerly left to me.”
“There’s been a mistake,” Virginia said, smiling.
Mary pulled a corrected will from the file folder. “Mom, are you willing to sign the correct will stating that I will receive the property that belongs to me?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Mary walked to the office and asked the executive assistant if she was a notary. “Yes,” the efficient, large woman replied.
“Could you come to Mrs. Landry’s room with me and notarize these papers?”
“Of course.”
The two women chatted as they walked briskly to Virginia’s overstuffed room, picking up two witnesses along the way.
“Mom, I’m going to read you this will, and if you agree, you initial it and sign it, and these people will witness and notarize it.”
“Well, OK, but really I have nothing to give away.”
As Mary read each part of the will, Virginia nodded her agreement, initialed the appropriate areas, and signed the last sheet. It was witnessed and notarized. Mary would lawfully have her intended share of the ranch.
Chapter Ten:
Kiss Me Once
2006
“Iris, do you really think that Hap’s cremation led to Mom’s heart attack?” Mary asked Iris in a late night call to New York in January, 2006.
“No, of course not. You heard the cardiologist didn’t you?” Iris asked. “Remember, when we visited her in the hospital, the cardiologist took me aside and said Mom only had ten percent heart function. He gave her three to five months, remember? It wasn’t about Hap or Catholic pedagogy. It was about the abuse of her body—all that sugar! Remember what PJ, her friend, said? That Mom never met a pie she didn’t like? Then, her lack of exercise, heavy smoking when she was young….”
“I think Mom just never acknowledged she needed to see a physician for her heart. I’m surprised they found it at all,” Mary quipped.
“Yeah, like the Tin Man,” Iris snickered. “You read Vicki’s letter?”
“I did. It was revealing.”
“You missed a lot of that excitement because you’re so much younger than most of us.”
“Are you angry with Mom?”
“Damned right I’m angry with her. I shall dance on her grave,” Iris said with determination. “Why wouldn’t she ever apologize to Hap before he died? Did she even visit him when he was so frail?”
“I don’t think so. Hap forgave her. That’s what’s important.”
“You mean w
hen he said, ‘awww, she didn’t know how to be a parent?’ You think that was his forgiveness?”
“Probably.”
Both sisters were silent.
“I should tell you about a dream I had soon after I read Vicki’s letter,” Iris offered.
“Tell me.”
“OK. Dad had called me and asked me to come back to Texas from New York, so I arrived at a house I bought in Austin and as I walked in I saw that all the curtains were put up and that Mom and Dad were waiting for me. Dad was heavy, and had a short, grey beard—very distinguished looking, with moustache. The curtains were atrocious—and on every window. I was grossed out. I said, ‘who did this? I ordered beautiful floor to ceiling white curtains.’ Mom said, ‘don’t you like it dear? I thought you needed a change.’ It was obvious she spent a great deal of time working on the curtains. They were huge blobs of bright blue and red and purple. They were short café style—cut in the middle.
“I was so upset. Dad could see that and he walked over to me, using his cane, and hugged me. I felt his whiskers and his warm arm and I said, ‘Oh, Dad, I love you so much.’ And he looked at me and said, ‘Don’t be too angry with your mother.’
“I woke up so sad. I just wish I had had a more loving mother.”
“Well, did Mom ever hurt you?”
“I cannot say she physically hurt me, Mare. Certainly I was hurt by all the abuse I witnessed. She was unable to be affectionate. Maybe she had already given all of her affection away by the time I needed her love. She told me she was unable to nurse me—that I was born so fast and nearly a month early—she was unprepared. Then she was so exhausted she said that she contracted breast fever. So, I got evaporated milk mixed with corn syrup.”
“Gross.”
“That’s what they did in 1949--infant formula didn’t get into mainstream use until the mid-50’s.”
“I guess it’s like Hap said, she did her best,” Mary said.
“I think she had too many children too fast and too early. She was in her twenties for god’s sakes! And surely it didn’t help that…well, losing Jillian had to be traumatizing. It was to me.”
“You’ve never talked about Jillian. No one ever talks about Jillian. I’ve only seen pictures of a beautiful little doll-like child. Do you want to tell me what happened to Jillian?” Mary asked.
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