The Red Envelope

THE RED ENVELOPE

 

There is a red envelope on the counter I pick it up and I feel a rush of excitement.  It’s from my Grandma.  My real-live, not adopted Grandma.  It feels a little like it’s staring at me. 

 

For those of you who have been reading my blog—you’d know that this summer, with the passing of my Aunt, I was reunited with my gorgeous and most favourite cousin—and got time with my Grandma and other family members.

 

I have avoided the family for a multitude of reasons one of the most prevalent reasons is shame and embarrassment and the unknown of what my Mother was saying about me to them.

 

There is a lot of shame for me when I think of my relationship with my Grandma.  I am sure she would not see it this way—at all.

 

The other reason is my mother would cut off relationship with my Grandma for months on end if she knew that Grandma and I were talking—and so as to not hinder their relationship I would just stay away.

 

My cousin said to me this summer the reason it was ok to let go of her mom was, there was nothing left unsaid.

 

I can’t say that about my life, with really any relationship that I have. 

 

So, I am looking at the red envelope and I know that I need to speak before I am filled with regret.

 

Grandma,

 

Thank you for the Christmas card.  I can’t tell you how excited I was to see it arrive.  You are always so much more generous than you need to be—we will probably take the money you sent and go on a date.  Our house continues to be a haven for teenagers and a night off without them would be rejuvenating and so needed.

 

I have carried your card with me in my purse since it arrived, because I have been struggling with emotion that it brings.  In some ways, I feel robbed of a family life that I didn’t have for the past number of years.  I am also feeling so proud of you for saying that our relationship matters.  I am also thinking of seeing Sheila this summer and a statement she made:  It is ok to let mom go because we didn’t leave anything unsaid.

 

I feel like I have things that I need to say to you before it’s too late.

 

I don’t know if I will be able to put into words what a haven your home was for me.  When we moved down from Kitimat and we lived with you—it was like I had been emancipated.

 

In my child’s mind I have no idea what the time frame of us staying with you was, but I do know that I loved that you let me play tennis up against the house, you let me help you weed the garden, your home was full of laughter, there was always food to eat and that I fell in love with “the Monkees” in your basement. (I thought they were a new band)

 

I remember fondly walking around Bowen Island with Grandpa on Father’s Day weekends, having stolen moments of visiting your home for dinner, playing upset the fruit basket, or the rare occasion when Pat would allow you in our home. 

 

You and Grandpa were a bright spot in an otherwise dark life.

 

When we moved out and into our own home at Bridgeview, we went back to our normal routine of dysfunction.

 

There was a moment that has been etched on my mind that I really need to explain to you and apologize to you.

 

Again, I am not sure of the time frame, maybe up to a week or more before Al and Pat left for Hawaii, my life started to unravel.

 

My solace was school, your home and my friend Rhoda Ramsay’s home.  I don’t think I would’ve intentionally done anything to break those ties, but I did.

 

Just before my parents left for Hawaii, I came home from school and Randy caught me and made me go to the family room where he began to sexually assault me.  I had learned over the past 2 years that fighting back just mean that he would beat me—so I had learned to deal with it by going into my mind and pretending I wasn’t really there. 

 

I would envision that I was sinking into the bed or carpeting.  Funny, I used to think that my nose would stick out and I couldn’t quite get all of my body underground…because of my dang big nose!

 

While the assault was happening, the front door opened.  Someone came in and gasped.  Randy turned and told them to get out.  At the time, I had no idea who it was; I was horrified and didn’t want to look up.

 

During the following week at school, several of the boys in my English and Social Studies classes asked if they could have a turn.  I’d turn them down, finally a boy in Grade 10 said, If you’d have sex with your brother, you can have sex with me.

 

 

My life suddenly screeched to a stop.  That day was excruciating to get through.  On my way home I was tormented by the boys.  They grabbed my clothes and pulled my hair.  I made it home, behind closed doors and I fell apart.  The refuge that was school was done.  I didn't want to go back.

 

 It was a couple days later I was staying with you and Grandpa.  It was March 1982.  I enjoyed the peaceful walk home to your house…in a completely different direction than the boys expected me to go—I was feeling free.

 

A few days later the boys stepped up the taunting and found where I was walking home, so I chose to walk to my own home.  Upon getting there I was very angry and decided that it had to be Rhoda who had told people…forgetting that someone had walked in on Randy a week prior.

 

I went to Rhoda’s; I accused her and then threatened her.  She called the Police.  And by the time I got to your home, it was a short time later the Police arrived.  And with a swift, stupid move I had ruined the final 2 places I found peace.

 

Had I just trusted you and told you what was happening—my life would’ve been drastically different.

 

I confessed to the police and you that I had threatened Rhoda and the shame was overwhelming.  I couldn’t tell anyone what was happening at home.  I had almost 2 years prior.  Pat had “disciplined” Randy by slapping him with her slipper; he returned the discipline to me by hitting me repeatedly with a piece of wood he kept under my bed.  The following morning I was covered from my neck to my knees in bruises.

 

I am not telling you all this to make you feel bad, please do not think that.  I wanted you to know that the best and brightest parts of my childhood included you.  And that I have missed you for years.  I don’t know if I could ask your forgiveness to your face for bringing the police down on you, and being an embarrassment, nor do I think that I could tell you these details to your face.  I want to thank you for the hope you have given me, the love you have always shown my little family, for teaching me the value and importance of family. For loving me when I was completely unlovable.

 

March 1982 was my breaking point.  I couldn’t bear up any more and turned to alcohol, drugs and running away to get away from life.  It was a few weeks later that Al walked in on Randy assaulting me in my bedroom and kicked him out of the house.  The following morning Pat told Al to chose “her or me” and Al made his choice and sent me away to Victoria the following week, it was Wednesday, April 14, 1982.  So much had happened in a short 44 days.

 

I am thankful everyday for that decision, leaving Surrey was the best thing that ever happened to me in my short 13 years.

 

Looking back over this letter—I know that these insecurities are mine.  I know that if you’d know what the truth was—you and Grandpa would’ve stepped in to help for that matter so would’ve Auntie Marjory.   I am forever grateful for you and I am looking forward to more time with you and nurturing a relationship that is long overdue.

 

Love, Kim