Untethered

Untethered

One would think that holding Liam at the end would be the hardest act I have ever faced.  It is, but there is one that comes close but of course the two are so unsimilar that it is really unfair to compare the two.  I do it to illustrate the point that I have taken a monumental step.
I have said before that I wish my brother and my mother no ill will.  I have said before that I forgive them.  I have said that I have to break the chains that bind me to the black dragon of incestuous abuse and a dark childhood.  I have said all this and I have written about all this, but did I really mean it?  Would it really be true if I didn't let my brother know this was how I felt?  I I didn't think so.
I recently made a phone call that I am hoping will allow me to walk stronger.  I planned it out with my therapist.  I wrote a letter of rage, an unbridled slew of anger and language I seldom allow to come out.  I then wrote another letter that succinctly outlined what I wished to say without all the rage.  I met with my therapist and made a call to a person I have been avoiding for about a year now.
I called him.  I had hoped I would get voicemail so I could delay the conversation for another week, but he answered.  I asked him to listen without interrupting while I spoke, he did.  I read aloud what I had written with my therapist sitting beside me.  I acknowledged the abuse in a way I have never done before.  I told him I knew what it was like to be sick and do something abhorrent that you regret.  I told him I forgave him.  I apologized for not releasing him from the guilt a long time ago.  I told him that though I truly wished he and our mother well, I would no longer be in contact.  I asked that he respect this decision as it was time for me to take care of myself.  He was silent for a long time, and then told me he was sorry and that if I ever changed my mind about being in contact he would be there.  Then my therapist tapped me on the knee and I said I needed to get off the phone.
That was it.  It was a seemingly non-event.  It was a short phone call with no malice.  It may have seemed that way, but it was huge.  It has taken me a few weeks to process this event and be able to write about it.  This was calming a raging dragon with whispers and love and slowly, gently untethering it to set it free.
Parts of me have for a long time thought, who would turn their back on their family?  Who would cut ties with blood?  Who would no longer visit a mother sick in a dementia unit or help a brother struggling to care for her?  I didn't want to be that person, but I have to be.  I no longer have a choice.  I can't be better, who I want to be, if I don't.  If I take a step back I can see my life behind me and recognize that I may just have suffered enough over my past and those I love the most have suffered enough as well.  I have voluntarily checked myself into a psych ward, I have been to two rehabs, I have missed two precious seven year birthday parties and weakened the bonds of my marriage.  There is much more as well... It is enough now.
After the call I went to the house to spend time with Frank and the kids.  After the kids went to bed, Frank and I spoke about the call.  I cried a little and Frank told me I was brave.  I shrugged and pointed at my emotionally twisted and tear-stained face and said, "huh, well I guess this is the face of bravery."  I guess it is.  It doesn't look gallant or fierce or militant.  It looks like a tired, forty one year old mom who still isn't sure how she feels about it all.  For a few days after I felt at once nauseous and battled the urge to bake a pan of brownies and eat them by myself in one sitting.
I will say that I am walking a bit lighter now.  I will say that I faced something huge and went on to make lunch after.  I will say that it no longer plagues me.  Frank asked me if I really meant what I said about wishing them well and forgiving them both...  Do I really mean it?  I do.