WHO AM I?

 

My Heritage…My Legacy

PART 1

 

A few years back, my oldest daughter, Julie, became interested in my family tree (Lawson-my maiden name).  She asked about grandparents and great-grandparents; our family heritage, our family beginnings. I knew very little.  It had not been something I had particularly thought of.  Most times I had tried to forget where I came from and from whom I came from.  There were too many questions of ‘why’?, splattered with heartache, pain and downright misery.  I did not understand some of the actions of both my mother and father.  I often thought of them as two of the most unlikely folk to fall in love, marry and have children.  Both were miserable.  Both seemed to fight darkness and depression from demons that haunted and hovered around them.  They never seemed to understand each other.  There was little, if any compassion for each other or for us.  Yet, out of this unlikely union came eight children; seven daughters and one son.  We grew up always waiting for the ‘other shoe to drop’.  Most of the time it was dad’s shoe we feared the most.  When he was drinking anything and everything would send him into an alcoholic, abusive rage.  No one, nothing, could escape his anger.  That is another story in of itself. 

But, Mom was not innocent herself.  She was always harried with too much to do, too little time and never enough money.  She had so much fear and depression. Her fears initiated her into irrational expectations of us.  Her depression distanced her from us.  Her own anger and rages drove us from her.  I loved Mom and always knew if it had not been for her, in spite of her many faults and failures, we would not have had anything.  Perhaps not even life itself.

Dad had a good paying job, but chose to give most of his pay to his mistress; the bottle.  Often he would give mom so little money for food that it was almost impossible to feed us.  Food was stretched out and portions limited that no one ever left the table full or even close.  If the mood hit dad, or we looked at him in the wrong way, what little meager food we had on the table would be kicked over and knocked down, spilling what few precious crumbs we had for supper that night all over the floor. There was never any remorse for his actions.  His demeanor told us we deserved this. At other times precious milk would be poured out down the sink and he would have his face twisted in such anger and declare, “You don’t deserve this milk”. After the carnage of his actions, he would stumble off and pass out and we were left to pick up and clean up.  It was hard not to grab the crumbs and stuff them into our mouths. Between his actions and rages and my mother’s bouts of anger and berating, we always had a sense of deep guilt.  What had we done or not done?  Which of us was the guilty party this time?  Any slight rays of sunshine would be clouded over by my Dad’s anger or my Mom’s tongue lashing. I sometimes look back and think me and my siblings moved around that house like zombies.  We dare not care for one another,for anything and never show emotion.  Keep it in, stuff it down, just get through it. Being the oldest, I remember it, I remember it all.So both parents used us as their vent for frustrations and deep seated anger.  That anger was always seething on the back burner ready to spill and spew out at one of us or all of us.

 I am still trying to push the guilt and hurt back down into a deep dark crevice in my heart and soul.  But, it is there.  Scars, deep scars.Yes, the scars are there, but there has been a healing balm that has brought me release and peace.  Unfortunately, most of my siblings have not been able to let the hurts heal.  It appears the wounds are still open and oozing.  Some of them battle drug, tobacco and alcohol addiction.  Others have had numerous failed relationships, divorce, abortions, and so on; all a result of battling demons from the past that have never been silenced and scourged once and for all. 

So, hence, I had no real desire to know much about my family tree, especially the Lawsons.  What bits and pieces I had heard about were stories of alcoholism, abuse, abandonment and anger. The roots of this family tree run deep with secrets of teenage runaways, unresolved family conflicts and deep seated grudges ingrained into the very fabric of the Lawson soul.  We knew very little of this side of the family and rarely had contact with them.  My dad was on his deathbed, comatose, brain dead.  Through a miracle I found his dad, my grandfather, living a short distance from us.  My mom, my husband and I went to his house and told him of Dad’s condition and that he was near death.  His comment was, “I have no son named Arnold”.  He refused to go see my Dad, or even acknowledge him as his son. I left his apartment deeply saddened and terribly confused as to what could have caused such a rift in this family.  I wanted to shut all this in a back closet, throw away the key and pretend this was not part of me and my legacy.  I felt I had heard and seen enough.

 However, The Preacher and his family had already done a tree search and had found out much about the Gabbards.  So with my daughter’s gentle nudging and prodding I felt like it was time to find out more about my family. Maybe some resolutions, reconciliations and reconnections might come from this search.

I supplied her with as much information as I could and so she began her research. When she finished her search, she presented me with a nice little notebook filled with names, dates and bits and pieces of the Lawson legacy and history.  At the time I looked through it and noted a few of the highlights.  A short time after receiving it, I was blessed to be able to go on a little trip down memory lane with my mother.I had a few days off, so I flew on a ‘jet’ plane’ to Kentucky, spent some time with my mom.  Then we got in a rented car and off we went in search of people and places no longer around. We were both younger then, in better health and at that time had an adventurous spirit. It was a trip I cherish.  Strangely enough, we spent a good deal of our search in cemeteries.  Most of those little cemeteries were very ancient, with weathered stones and rocks so worn it was difficult to determine who was buried in those humble little graves.  We found some names my mom recognized.  We saw several little graves of children who barely took a breath in this world and then that breath left their little bodies.As we drove around looking at old familiar sites, we did find some relatives who knew about other relatives who filled us in the whereabouts of some of the Lawsons.

 

Stop by again soon...for PART 2....of My Heritage,  My Legacy