She was about to cry and wished she hadn’t come. “I don’t know. I feel as if I’ve been caught stealing something and don’t know why.”
“Did you read through your journal before you dropped it off?”
“No. I was afraid if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”
“I’m glad you didn’t then, because there were several things in your journal that were very helpful to me, but before we talk about them, let’s catch up on what’s been going on in your life for the past several years. The last time we talked, your little Lisa Anne was still a baby. Obviously there have been some new additions. Why don’t you tell me what’s been happening to you.”
Dr. Jacobson picked up her cup of tea, sat back against the sofa, and acted as if this was just a neighborly little visit between two friends. Early in her practice, Dr. Jacobson had learned that these journeys into personal discovery could not be sandwiched into fifty-minute sessions. It takes time and patience to work with people who are beginning to come face to face with their deepest, darkest fears and pain. After all, most have spent their entire lives denying these feelings and burying them deep into their subconscious. Most of the time, as they come into the office, they have no idea what their real problem is. They simply focus on the symptoms.
During the first five or six visits, Susan spent the time painting this happy, successful picture of her life and family. She talked about Scott’s wonderful qualities and what a good father he was. It was obviously important to her that Dr. Jacobson understand there was absolutely no reason for how she was feeling. She knew she had no business being depressed and couldn’t understand why she couldn’t drive these feelings away.
“Susan, when you feel like this, what do you do to try to feel better?”
“Well, sometimes I try to get involved in a project or something. I’ll get my sewing machine out and make one of the girls a dress, or I’ll make clothes for their dolls. Sometimes I feel like I have to get out of the house, so we’ll go over to Grandpa and Grandma’s and the girls will swim. If the weather is bad, we’ll walk through the mall and get a treat. Anything that will help me get my mind off how I’m feeling.”
“Are those the usual ways you deal with your pain?” Dr. Jacobson knew the answer, but she wanted Susan to say it. It doesn’t help a patient to be told what’s wrong; the patient has to make this discovery herself, with a little help.
At first she quickly nodded yes but then looked over at Dr. Jacobson with an embarrassed half smile. “Well … no. Lately I’ve been sleeping a lot. I can’t stand these feelings, and all I can think to do is take a nap. Actually, for the past year you couldn’t really call what I do taking a nap. I’ve gone to bed several times and stayed there for a day or two. I don’t know why I do this. I know it hurts Scott and the girls, but it’s like I have this huge weight on me and I can’t breath.”
“Susan, what you’re experiencing is not uncommon among adults, who, as children, experienced extremely dysfunctional homes. As you were growing up, you developed certain tools that allowed you to survive an unbelievably harsh home. For you, one of those tools was your escape route. When things got overwhelming for you, you would escape the terror of your life by going to sleep. That was the only place you felt safe. When sleeping, you were somewhere else, with someone else, doing something else. It was your way of staying out of trouble. After all, a sleeping child cannot say or do something that will bring the reign of terror down on them. Isn’t that right?”
Susan was honestly puzzled. “Yes. I understand why I did it when I was a child, but why am I doing it now? I don’t have anything in my life that is overwhelming me, and there certainly is no reign of terror in my home.”
“Before I address that, let’s talk about another tool you used as a child to survive, and how that tool is possibly causing you some real problems now. As we’ve talked together these past few weeks, I’ve pieced together things you’ve shared with things you wrote in your journals. I’ve noticed a pattern each time one of your black moods occur.”
She needed Susan to recognize these patterns for herself but wasn’t sure she was ready to face one of her biggest fears yet. “Have you noticed any of these patterns?”
Twisting the hankie around her finger, Susan sat on the sofa trying to come up with an answer. Finally, she turned to Dr. Jacobson and shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Susan, do you sometimes feel as if you might be jealous of your girls?”
Susan’s answer came out almost sounding like a tortured animal “No! I love my girls. I would never be jealous of them. Why would I?” She was beginning to feel a wave of panic sweep over her and began to cry. All her childhood fears of becoming a bad mother were sitting right at the surface of her emotions. She had always said she would rather never have children than to take the risk of behaving like her mother.
Reaching over, taking hold of Susan’s hand, Dr. Jacobson gently responded, “I don’t think you are either. I don’t think you’re jealous of your girls. I do suspect you’re so terrified of becoming like your mother that your fears are overwhelming you. I do think you’re struggling with some very strong emotions that are all tied up with your girls. I think these emotions are terrifying you and you are afraid to look at them, fearing what they might tell you. I think you go to sleep so you don’t have to look at them. Let me ask another question. Did you experience any of these black moods before Lisa Anne was born?”
She thought for a moment. “I think the first one came when Lisa Anne was about three.”
“That’s what I thought. Susan, one of the tools you used as a child to explain, or make sense out of your sick home life, was to always make excuses for your mother’s behavior. You were the obedient, loving daughter who always stood by her side. Your sister, Lisa, ran off, didn’t she? She and your mother never got along, and Lisa hated her, whereas you stayed in that house trying to keep her happy until you finally got married and she turned her back on you. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, but she shut me out. I didn’t abandon her.”
“I know. I think what has been happening to you is a painful path of discovery. When you were young, you were simply Marjorie Miller’s daughter, trying to see your mother’s actions from a daughter’s perspective. You were an obedient, helpful daughter who wanted to believe her mother really did care about her, but as Lisa Anne began getting a little older, you began seeing the world through the eyes of a mother, a very loving mother. As you began to watch this little girl experience home and family, security and love, your mind couldn’t help but compare her life with your own life as a child.
“As your girls got older, I think they were getting closer to ages that are easier for you to remember of your own childhood. None of us can remember things much before three years of age, so as your girls got to these ages, your memories were triggered and you couldn’t help but have some very painful memories flood your mind. You haven’t been feeling jealous, Susan. You’ve been trying to drive away your painful memories. I think you’re finally coming to understand just how sick your mother was. You now know what a good, loving mother is. You are one! Could you ever, even for a moment, imagine doing to one of your little girls the things you remember your mother doing to you?”
Susan’s response came out of her like a wail from deep in her soul. “No! How could she have done those things to me? I look at my babies, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect them. I couldn’t stand by and watch someone beat my babies into unconsciousness, but that’s what she did.”
Dr. Jacobson had watched and listened as many adults had come to similar painful realizations during counseling. No matter how many times she experienced it, it never got easy.
Susan was staring deep into herself and finally facing the ugly truth she had struggled her entire life to deny. Susan was finally ready to see her mother for what she was. No more excuses. No more hoping. No more denying. Even though Dr. Jacobson knew this was exactly what Susan needed, it was hard to
watch someone experience such deep sorrow, rage, and loss.
Dr. Jacobson waited as Susan’s mind raced through the corridors of her memory. She was finally allowing herself to revisit those childhood experiences and see them for what they really were.
With a new-found rage, Susan shared one such memory.
“I remember a time when she turned my father on me. I was in kindergarten. I left my crayons on the kitchen table, and some of them had rolled onto the floor and she stepped on one. My dad was in the back yard mowing, and one of the neighbors said something to him that made him mad. He came storming in and started pushing my mother against the sink.”
Dr. Jacobson noticed a hesitation in Susan’s voice, as if she weren’t so sure she really wanted to go back to that memory after all. These feelings of rage were scaring Susan. She had never allowed herself to feel her outrage at being treated the way she was.
“Susan, what happened in that kitchen?”
Without looking up Susan said, “I walked in the kitchen to get a drink and saw him slap her across the face for talking back to him. But before I knew it, she was pointing to my crayons and saying I had refused to pick them up. My dad spun around and grabbed me by my hair and picked me up. I remember my head hurting, but I didn’t dare scream. He slammed me against the door, hitting my head hard; he then punched me in the stomach and dropped me. As he stepped over me, he yelled at me to pick up the crayons. I remember looking over at my mother standing by the sink. There was this sick smirk on her face, and I knew I had just gotten the beating intended for her. She didn’t say a word; she simply turned and went on fixing my dad’s lunch. I picked up my crayons and went straight to my bedroom. I don’t think I came out that whole day. I could hardly walk, my stomach hurt so much. It was a day or two before I could stand to brush my hair. You know, when I look at my Lisa Anne, someone would have to kill me before I would let anyone hurt her.”
She was finally seeing her mother for what she really was. Taking Susan into her arms and gently comforting her, Dr. Jacobson encouraged her tears to flow. Years of silent rage spilled out of Susan, and she cried out all the questions she had been too afraid to ask because the answers would have been too painful to face. “How could my mother do that to me?”
“I don’t know, Susan. Maybe we’ll never know all that happened to Marjorie Miller to turn her into the woman she is. We do know though, she was, or became, a very sick person. But you don’t have to wait until you have understood why she did what she did before you can be freed. My task is helping you, not her. I suspect that once we are able to openly look at your childhood, you will be able to separate your memories from your children. Once you face your memories, they won’t have the same power over you. As for your need to sleep, you need to keep reminding yourself that you no longer need to escape your memories.”
It took several more months before Susan and Dr. Jacobson felt they had faced most of her monsters. The black moods were gone, and she hadn’t gone to bed during the daytime in months. They both knew there would always be reminders of her loss. But now she was learning how to recognize her feelings, and they would no longer control her. Susan had made excuses for her mother her whole life.
During therapy, Susan went through a period of hating her mother, but then, as her emotions began to settle down, she began to pity her. Her mother was living in a lonely world of her own making, and until she decided to change, there was nothing anyone could do to help her. Susan was finally feeling free of her. She and Lisa were both going to be all right, and that was enough for right now.
***
What Susan could not possibly know at the time was she would need this calm understanding of her childhood very soon. There was a huge storm brewing, and nobody saw it coming.
Chapter 24
It was almost midnight when the storm hit Susan’s house. The phone rang, and Scott jumped up to answer it. “Who in the world could be calling at this time of night? Oh, I hope it isn’t about Dad. Mom said he is recovering well from gallbladder surgery.”
Susan stood beside him, anxious to know what was wrong. As he held the phone, the look on his face made her want to sit. She was trying not to fall apart, but her mind was racing, trying to figure out what horrible thing could put that look on his face.
Scott said into the phone, “Yes. No. I understand. All right. We’ll get dressed and come right away. Don’t worry, Aunt Gladys. Everything’s going to be all right. We love you!”
With that, he hung up and turned to Susan, who already knew something horrible must have happened to Lisa. Before he could tell her what had happened, she was crying uncontrollably.
“You have to pull yourself together. Lisa is all right. She’s not hurt, but she’s in bad trouble. No one knows exactly what happened, but around eight o’clock tonight, Lisa shot and killed your father.”
“My father? What? How can that be? He’s in prison.”
“I don’t understand this either, and Aunt Gladys said the police wouldn’t let her see or talk to Lisa. They have her at the police station and are trying to piece together what happened tonight. Aunt Gladys can’t get anything out of them because she isn’t family. I told her we’d come right away, so you go pack some things for us while I grab some clothes for the kids. I’ll call Mother and tell her we’re dropping them off on our way out of town.”
Susan could hardly think as she pulled out their suitcases and began packing the things they would need. Her mind was fuzzy. All she could think about was Lisa sitting in that jail again. Every once in awhile, she sat on the bed and prayed very hard for her sister. She had no idea what had happened, but she knew Lisa would need her there as soon as possible. She quickly finished packing and helped Scott get the sleeping children into the car.
***
Mrs. Thomas was standing in the doorway as they pulled into the driveway. She didn’t ask any questions, but the look on her face showed real concern. She had the covers turned down on Carol Anne’s bed, and Scott tucked Lisa Anne and Megan in and gave each of them a kiss. As he stood there for a moment, staring at his little girls, all he could think of was how much Lisa Anne loved her Auntie Lisa. How was she going to handle this? Susan settled Matthew in the crib Grandma kept in Scott’s room, and then the two of them headed down to the kitchen.
They could smell coffee brewing, and Caroline was busy making toast. Bill was still asleep upstairs, so they all tried to keep very quiet. It was only that morning that he had come home from having gallbladder surgery, and they didn’t want him upset. She had already called Carol Anne and told her what was happening—at least what they knew. Caroline needed her daughter to come take the children out of the house in the morning so Dad could rest.
Not wanting them driving ninety miles in the middle of the night without being wide awake, she had already filled a thermos, and as she poured them each a cup of coffee, she asked, “So, what happened? Is Lisa all right? He didn’t hurt her, did he?”
“We don’t know very much right now. They wouldn’t tell Aunt Gladys anything, except Susan’s dad is dead, and Lisa shot him. As soon as we know anything we’ll call, but we need to get going. We don’t want Lisa in that jail any longer then necessary. I’m sorry about the timing, with Dad sick, but we’ll get the kids as soon as we know what’s going on.”
They thanked her for the thermos and took off for Jefferson. They were quiet for most of the drive, trying to imagine what might have happened. No one had even bothered telling them Chuck Miller was getting out of prison, and Susan was furious. “They knew he had threatened Lisa. Why didn’t they warn her he was being released? If they had told Lisa, Aunt Gladys would have known about it. I simply don’t get it.”
“Let’s try to stay calm. We don’t know what happened yet, so please, try not to worry. At least Lisa’s all right.”
He knew this was a big assumption. The police might not have told Gladys if Lisa had been beaten. Unlike the last time, it just might not have been bad enough to send her to
the hospital. He didn’t want to mention his concern to Susan. She did not need any more trouble right now.
The roads were dry and clear, so Scott drove faster than normal, but it still took almost two hours to get to Jefferson.
As they walked into the jail, Susan recognized Officer Jackson. He had always been kind and helpful whenever she came to visit Lisa eleven years earlier. When he looked up, he immediately recognized her, and a big grin came across his face. “Hello, I’m Officer Jackson, and you must be.…”
“Scott, Scott Thomas, and this is my wife, Susan. We’re here to see Lisa Miller. I understand she’s being held here. Is that right?”
As Scott held out his hand, Officer Jackson thought, So this is the young man who won the prize. Nice-looking guy; handles himself pretty well. Strange combination, these three. Never could see the connection between these two women.
Officer Jackson suddenly realized Scott’s hand was still being held out, and he quickly reached out and shook it. “Yes, sir, we have her in back, but you can’t see her right now. Not until they’re finished questioning her and then she will be booked.”
“Booked! For what?” Susan shouted.
“For murder. You’re her sister, aren’t you?” He was pretty sure he had remembered their connection.
“Yes, I am, but why are they booking her for murder?”
“Well, it seems she shot your father this evening, or last evening is more accurate. Around eight o’clock, in a dark alley, downtown. Quite a colorful past your sister has.”
It was obvious to both of them he had seen Lisa’s criminal file and had already found her guilty. This wasn’t fair, and she was determined to see Lisa. “That’s right! Past! The person you see in that file no longer exists and hasn’t for eleven years.”
Then, trying hard to contain her anger, Susan added, “How soon can we see her, and has she asked for an attorney yet?”
“Mrs. Thomas, your sister has been in and out of the system for years. She knows her rights, rest assured of that. Why don’t you go home and we’ll call you when she wishes to see relatives.”
Wall of Silence Page 22
