I’ve chosen reconciliation over separation from family, Mom included, sorta.
Silly me. I forgot my big, fat, Puerto Rican heart is at least 100 times the size of my mother’s heart. However, I refuse to allow satan to dictate which relatives I can love and have good relationships.
One uncle recently buried the hatchet with my mother, who tried to murder him with a butcher knife in front of their dying mother, nearly 20 years ago. The other has invited my family to his mountain home for Thanksgiving two years in a row much to Mom’s objections, disgust and negative propaganda.
Nothing she predicted ever came to fruition. So of course I pushed my uncle for an answer to my questions: When will someone stand for me? When will someone speak up and tell my mother she was wrong? How much longer must I be excommunicated on false charges by my mother? Who has brass balls big enough to stand for what is right and on my behalf?
My sweet Tio began working on some sort of reconciliation for she and I. We met for coffee and talked for two hours. Tears were involved and I left hopeful. The next day I was paralyzed. Though I agreed to meet again the next day I couldn’t.
My waterbed, which is like sleeping in the womb, held me hostage. The chains: extreme exhaustion and fear. I learned a very hard lesson: My mother’s abuse actually happened. It’s impossible for me to fake it. My body informed me it has taken major emotional hits over the years.
Eventually, I called and explained why I ignored texts, phone calls and instant messages to meet the next day. My body sent a clear message: Not yet. While my heart disagreed vehemently, I had to yield.
My heart desperately wants to reconcile. I’ve never been able to share my womanhood or motherhood with her. There’s so much to catch up on. However, I’m a follower of Jesus Christ.
I have been commanded simply to love her, forgive her, turn the other cheek and allow His love to cover a multitude of sins. Love doesn’t keep an accounting of sin. Love bears, believes and hopes all things. As Brian Johnson penned, “[His] love never fails, it never gives up, it never runs out on me.”
I know what you’re thinkin’. I’m crazy for wanting this. However, this phase of recovery is affirming she was part of the abuse cycle. I’m not crazy. Now it’s time to put my faith where my mouth is. It’s time to intercede in prayer. I love my family and I’m not going to give satan the satisfaction of keeping us apart any longer.
Pray that love wins.