From hanging out on this forum, It seems we've all had 'that day'. I guess if there is any 'one thing' that I attribute to my PTSD, it would be this. I've needed to tell this story for my own therapy. It was HARD! I've been writing and facing some things on a private blog just for my own use and this is today's entry. Thank you for indulging me. I appreciate this forum!

The day our world changed and never became 'normal' again

The Story of Spiderlegs

It was a typical hot, late August day in the early 70′s. I was 24 years old and my sweet baby girl just turned six and was ready to start her first day of school. I got the day off from work and we spent it together, shopping and getting her physical exam at the pediatrician office required to start school.

I remember standing at the counter of the doctors office, noticing the time on the clock, writing them a check and suddenly feeling sick, faint, weak, just ‘not right’. I seemed to lose control of the pen. Then the strange feeling passed and we drove the short distance home, singing silly songs. It had been a great day with that special little girl.

My husband was already home from work and we had only moments arrived when the phone rang. I don’t just remember it, that moment is as raw now as it was all those years ago.

My Mother, who suffered with a tremor and had a ‘shaky’ voice on good days, was calling. I can’t begin to describe the terror and desperation in her voice. My x brother in law had just murdered my sister. Slaughtered with 3 blasts from a 12 gauge shotgun in my Mother’s living room. For this psychotic monster, killing her wasn’t enough. He had to do it in front of my mother and my sister’s 12 year old son, who he was punishing for choosing to live with his mother.

It took all I had to hang on to the receiver as I sank to the floor, sliding down the kitchen cupboards. My husband ran to me. My child must have been terrified because I surely wasn’t thinking about her well being at that moment.

We drove fast the 8 or so miles to my Mother’s home, though it seemed to take forever. My thoughts were amazing…maybe my Mother has flipped out and she’s wrong…..Maybe she’s just hurt….I couldn’t face this!!! Not my sister…..My 29 year old brilliant, beautiful, only sister!

All of us had our own story that day, and I didn’t experience nearly the horror that my mother, 2 nephews and little niece did, but I can only tell my story. I would fail miserably if I attempted to relay the horror they lived. Three innocent children became orphans that day, and virtually every day of their lives since has been hell! It’s really a miracle they’ve turned out as well as they have, but they keep their pain private, when they are able to do so.

My nephews and niece were always welcome in my home, I did all I could muster for them. They never forgave me for not making them a home. My husband was already raising my daughter from my previous bad union, he refused to consider taking them in. If I left him, the state wouldn’t allow me, on my income and single to have them. They were split up and put in foster care…usually bad foster care. They begged to not be split up. After a few weeks, the state did just that insisting the kids were too ‘troubled’ and angry for one family to handle. It was heartbreaking.

Every Christmas and birthday, they were always at my home and as often as I could, I attended their school functions, games, etc. The next August I was the passenger in a near fatal auto accident, crushing my pelvis, knee, concussion. Needless to say, I wasn’t able to be a mother to my own child for quite a time much less do them any good. By the next year, I was pregnant. Within a few more years, the one man I truly loved and I were divorced. I was never quite able to forgive him for not helping those kids. I never got time to grieve. Everyone else was falling apart, I had to be the strong one. I kept busy and stuffed the memories, drowned them, tried to smoke them away. It was 25 years later when I was too sick to be busy and I was all alone that it really hit me hard.

I don’t see any of her three children any more. When they were kids, they seemed to handle it better than they do as adults. I know I used to handle it better. They are not pleasant or happy adults. Now we all just seem to remind each other of the pain. I miss them terribly. They are three very intelligent, good looking people who were truly victims. I hate that they don’t have ‘family’.

My Mother, what can I say? How would you continue after witnessing the person you loved most on this earth be slaughtered? And still, often she smiled and always loved her grandchildren. Yes, she was unreasonable about some things, insisting it was my fault because I was ‘off playing’ and wasn’t there to stop it or that I couldn’t figure out a way to care for the children long term. It plagued her so that she even seemed to forget my name, and would usually address me with my sister’s name. It hurt me, but what hurts worse is knowing that I could have been just a little more compassionate toward her. But I was too busy being ‘strong’ and unemotional and reliable! I never understood how she could continue to live in that house. It took all I had to even walk in the thing again. But somehow she did, for another 15 years.

That next year, when I had just been taken to ICU after the car accident, my mother came to my bedside as I laid there broken. It was more than she could bear. She shook her fist and screamed at me, “How could you do this to me?!”

I guess I never forgave her for those words when I so needed comfort and it’s taken decades to understand how she could have reacted that way. Those words were harder to take than the broken bones. I only know, I could have never gone through the pain she did and survived. And some days I’m convinced that none of us really survived that horrible day.

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