Day three of my Wild Musings with Renee Magnusson.
What an enlightening day! I miss many of the usual things and people but I found my 'missings' kept returning to my paternal Nanna and Grandpop's house:
the little green-painted stool in their back hallway, painted so many times with thick paint over thicker paint that the little grab hole in the centre became smaller and smaller each time;
reading cross-legged on the floor on their upstairs landing in front of the floor to ceiling airing cupboard piled high with musty old comic books and annuals that my dad read as a boy;
crawling under the floor length net/lace curtains to gaze out the landing window and look down at my white-haired Nanna standing by the black wrought iron gate gossiping with head-scarved neighbourhood women ;
at Nanna and Grandpop's playing with Judy, my aunt's childhood doll. I always had to ask specially to play with her as she was very old, even older than my aunt, and she was a delicate doll with a porcelain head and and hands and feet but with a delightfully soft body made of sawdust perhaps? Something lovely and soft. I loved all dolls but especially Judy. Her hands and feet curled like a baby's so she could never stand up or walk but she could be cuddled endlessly, a pleasing, droopy weight in my arms which made me feel immediately protective towards her. I always wanted to take Judy home to play with her but I never could. She was old and I was young and I was told that I had to leave her there for my other much younger cousins and especially my aunt's children.
But looks had passed between adults over my head and I sensed there was something more to it all, something I was missing. I felt excluded I guess although I had no idea why. The reasons were given were reasonable and logical to my child's mind but my child's senses had picked up on something murky.
So today, thinking about things I missed, my thoughts and feelings returned continually to my Nanna and Grandpop's house. Puzzling. Why? Some things that popped up, that stool for instance, hadn't crossed my mind in decades. I puzzled over it for hours as I went about my day, trying to be open to what was surfacing.
Finally I understood.
Seven years ago when I was 53 and Mam had been dead for 9 months, I found out completely out of the blue and 'by accident' that my dad was not my biological father as I had believed and been told all these years. I felt stupid--that was my first reaction. How could I not have known? I'd had suspicions from time to time but was always convinced otherwise. Of course my dad was still my dad, moreso really--he had wanted and accepted me--and his story with Mam was touching and full of love. But when I told him that I knew, we rode a highly emotionally charged roller coaster for several days. He was furious that I had found out the truth. I understood why the lie and had immense compassion for Mam especially but my world was deeply shaken. And I understood that look. Judy belonged in the bloodline family.
So today, when my thoughts kept returning to Nanna and Grandpop's house, Dad's parents, and I finally understood why, I realised what I was missing:
I miss what I thought was the rock solid security of my childhood, of not knowing what I now know about my birth. I miss not knowing that I was being lied to and misled for all those years.
Welcome! I'm Sue Blott: a writer of all things, a poet at heart, mom, wife, daughter, step-mom, grandma, tea drinker, tai chi-er, mystic, artist, dreamer...and now a blogger! This is my world.