We flew to Terrace and then drove from there. We drove through the mountains after a lot of snowfall and the beauty of it kept lifting away the heaviness of the days before. The excessive gifts from my mom with notes attached "Why me?", little frowning faces, question marks, hopes that I could work through my troubles, etc. I just looked out the window, astounded at the beauty before me and allowed the miles between there and home wash over me. It felt like a relief to be so far away.
When we arrived at Gran's house, I could tell it was worse than we thought. She was out of sorts. She couldn't really be present with us. She was losing her husband.
As our short visit progressed, I asked Gran how she met her husband. They met at a party. She wasn't interested in him, it was her sister that seemed to hit it off with him. But that didn't work out, and they just kept running into each other at parties and ending up together. I wanted to get some stories from her about them for my husband. His Grandpa was not able to communicate the way we hoped and I wanted Chris to come away with something to hold onto. His gran instead began to tell us what an abusive relationship it was. Without getting into details, she made it clear that he had hurt her in many ways. For decades. Right up until he was diagnosed with cancer, at which point he quit drinking, which had always been the trigger of the abusive behaviour.
It was hard to hear her talk about it all. Hard because I knew it was hurting Chris and hard because it was a lifetime of pain, all just spilling out as if it couldn't stay in. She was about to lose him, and she was still hurting from all he had done. What struck me was that she was still there. She didn't want to be away from him. She wanted to go back to the hospital and once she was there, she didn't want to leave. She loves him so much. She is loyal still.
Everywhere we went, I saw the same things. Evidence of abusive cycles. Some having improved, some having ended, some continuing on and being passed to a new generation right before our eyes. But everywhere, I could see it. I could feel it. Sadness. Anger mellowed out into other things. Fear. Loss. Tragedy. So much more than I have been through, and still they were there for each other. Maybe not as much as I think. Maybe a snapshot is not enough to tell. Maybe I don't know if it's good or bad, but I just felt something I can't easily access. I don't know what it is.. Acceptance maybe? Grace for one another, despite it all. I wondered at how they were all still in it together. All at their different stages of recovery and abuse. They all still gathered together. And I can't. I fear running into my mom at the grocery store. I don't know what that makes me feel. I don't know if that break in me is what saves me or if that will be where I one day will feel weakest.
I remember when I first met her and saw this photo hanging in her dining room, I saw quiet strength. I was relieved to find it downstairs when I didn't see it when we arrived this time. When I see this photograph now, I still see strength, but I also see vulnerability. Sadness. I see acceptance of harder things in life than I have ever known. I see all she was holding on her shoulders. I see grace. I think I saw it all last time too, but didn't know why.
By the time we were leaving, I could tell that she didn't want us to go. I didn't really want to go either. I felt like there was something I needed to learn from her. From all of them. I wasn't ready to come home. Part of me wanted to change our trip. Be there when my husband's grandpa dies. Go to the funeral. See how they love. See how they grieve. Try to understand how you get through it all.
We came back as planned. My dad came by on New Year's Day. I wasn't home, but called him back. It felt so good to hear his voice. It was the best gift I got.
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