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
I'm sure it wasn't easy for you to write all that. You are amazing what you have overcome and how you have always loved and honored your parents in spite of everything.
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