Dear Mrs. Bluth,
I don’t know how to begin, or even what beginning to start with, to explain the terrible state of loss I am living with. For the past ten months my daughter has been dragging me from one therapist to another, but not one seems to understand the severity of my depression nor the black cloud that has surrounded my life. I am no longer certain of who I am and where I belong and my days, once full and happy, are a distant memory. It is because of my cousin that I write to you as a last resort.
I am a seventy-one-year-old woman, who’s had a close and loving relationship with my parents, more so with my father than my mother, who was very often despondent and distant towards me, doting more on my two brothers. Growing up I had friends and a lively social circle but when I reached dating age, my mother became somewhat of a warden until my father intervened and I was one of the last of my friends to get married. I also found it odd that my mother hardly ever spoke more than a few words to my husband, who was a sweet and loving man and did so much for her, but I never dwelled on it. However, now I fully understand why she doted on my daughters far more than on my sons.
In retrospect, it was almost always my father who attended my PTA meetings, plays and recitals, my mother begging off because of one thing or another. In fact it was my dad who walked me through puberty and early womanhood via books and articles and a few slightly embarrassing question and answer sessions. It all seemed very normal and he was such a loving force in my life, and I considered myself truly lucky to have such a great dad. My mother’s sister, my Aunt Molly, filled in for my mom whenever needed.
So life went on, the years passed, my parents passed away and I was suddenly seventy-one years old. Ten months ago I got a call from my cousin that Aunt Molly was on her deathbed and asking to see me, that she had something of great importance she had to tell me before she went to her final rest. So my daughter and I flew immediately as time was of the essence and her final wish had to be honored, and went directly to the hospice to see her. As soon as I entered, Aunt Molly asked everyone there to please leave the room except for me. I was a bit nervous, to say the least, as I hadn’t seen Aunt Molly for some years and the ravages of her illness had transformed her once full frame into just skin over bone. She bade me sit next to her and took my hand into hers. Her mind, seemingly sharp as a tack still, was having difficulty sending the right words for her to use, however, after some moments she said, “Adel, there’s something you need to know, something that has plagued your mother’s life and affected her love for you, but please don’t hate or blame her, it was never her fault! When your mother was sixteen and she and our family had migrated from Hungary to the United States, she went to work in a sewing factory, because she had a rudimentary knowledge of the English language and needed to help with the finances at home.”
At this point, Aunt Molly had a severe coughing attack and was quite spent, needing some time to regain her strength to continue. “There was a floor manager who took a liking to your mother and she to him, but her parents wouldn’t hear of it. When your mother told him that they could never talk again he became angry and one night, not too long after she had refused to speak to him, he waited until she was about to leave the factory and dragged her, kicking and wailing, into an empty storeroom and attacked her. She couldn’t move for a long time and when she got home and told her parents they were frantic and two months later their worst fears were realized. They managed to get her engaged and married to your father and seven months later you were born. Your father never asked and your mother never spoke of it. It was something she had to deal with every time she looked at you but it made your father care for you even more than for your brothers. Please don’t hate your mother, she was a victim of the worst kind of violation, but your father loved her in spite of it and looked at you as a treasured gift, you lacked for nothing and I was always there to give you the love your mother often could not.” And the coughing started again. I kissed her one last time, to cover the shock I was in and went to open the door for all the others to come in. Still too raw to process this information, we left back to the airport. Aunt Molly passed two days later, leaving me with the secret I wish I’d never known.
I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. I stopped talking to people, family and friends alike. I began to lose weight and I cried a good part of the time no one was around. Why did she have to tell me!! What good did it serve to know I was the by-product of a rape? So the person I used to be was really a sham? An imposter? What would my children think if I told them? Would they still care about me, respect me? These are the questions that haunt my days now and, of late, I wish for death. What can you tell me, Mrs. Bluth, that can possibly erase these ten months of nightmares and depression and explain the terrible reason for my existence?
Dear Friend,
Sitting here re-reading your letter for the third time, suddenly, the answer came to me, not from a psychology book or consult with peers. First, I tried to tap into the state of shock you must have been in when your Aunt Molly, a”h, told you the circumstances surrounding your birth. I actually felt the sheer sense of devastation you must have felt, that instantaneous loss of identity you always related to, prior to this sad piece of ancient history so haphazardly thrust upon you and the circumstances as to why it was given to you just before her passing. So, take a deep breath and try to cleared away the heavy cobwebs of confusion and see if what I tell you will bring you some consolation and closure to a sad and unfortunate situation.
Your Aunt Molly knew she was dying and understood that she could not take this piece of information with her, because it answered many of the questions about why your mother could not display the natural loving, nurturing and selfless devotion a mother feels for her child. Your mom had suffered the most brutal and extreme trauma a woman should never be put through and it changed the destiny of her entire life. On top of that, your birth thereafter, was a constant reminder that caused her to relive that trauma over and over again. It is my opinion that your mother wanted to love and nurture you, but she couldn’t overcome the nightmare she experienced. However, the man who accepted you as his own, loved you as though he had fathered you and adored you always was indeed a blessing and, as far as I’m concerned, he was your real father. I believe your Aunt Molly wanted to give you the clarity of truth to understand your mother’s shortcomings and to find it in your heart to forgive her…even to love her.
Let go of all the negative thoughts, dear friend, and replace them with the thoughts that have all been there before this revelation. You were meant to come into this world, first and foremost, and why you came into it the way you did I cannot answer since there is no answer forthcoming in this life for it. When the time is right, all will be clear to you. Right now, busy yourself with acts of living! You have children, grandchildren and one day, great-grandchildren to see to, who would never have been born had it not been for you! It is for them that you must avail yourself and you have so much love, life experience and nurturing to lavish on them and to receive from them in return.
It is time to put the past back to sleep. Yesterday is past, tomorrow is not yet here, but now, this day, this moment is filled with amazing possibilities. Don’t waste a second of it but milk it for all the blessings that are right in front of you. Should you feel the need to contact me personally, please don’t hesitate to call. I wish you the very best of every moment of every day of your life.
