An unexpected message this morning about the perfume scent which still comes and goes, especially while in my art room. The logical aspect of my brain wants to assume it is coming in through the window as someone passes by. However, the spiritual aspect makes me realize they would be walking by an awful lot at very strange times of day and night. Never the less at times I will go to the window to check, even though it is a difficult vantage point and I would have to be very lucky in order to catch a glimpse. The strength of this particular scent is over powering at times, almost making me nauseous, so last night when this happened, it got through the fog of my thoughts to start asking why this person was here at this time. My belief it was my birth mother no longer making sense.
This morning out of the blue I thought of the scent Helen wore which was Este Lauder. Helen was my adopted mother, so yes this was quite unexpected, because she is not someone in my opinion who would wish to see me. As you can imagine, this got me thinking about her being the possible explanation for this rather insistent visit. Music and scents are strong connectors for me, so it makes me realize of course she would use her favourite perfume to make her presence known. Coming from Poland to Canada as a child, she grew up with very little. She loved the luxuries afforded to her with my arrival. The perfume was one of many status symbols which she enjoyed showing off. What further interests me is how her presence was what led me to investigate my birth mother’s scent of choice, something I would most likely never thought to do otherwise.
Neither my adopted mother nor my birth mother, once I understood who she was, gave me comfort when thinking of them. Because of them, getting close to girls as a child or women as I grew older was very difficult due to lack of trust. It’s not difficult to imagine why once some of my stories are told and heard they were incapable, each in their way, of loving me. My mother, was very loving and affectionate until the time she was put in a situation forced to surrender me in order to save herself and her other 2 children. Having been in a similar situation which asked me to let my children go rather than keep them in what was understood to be a dangerous situation, there came understanding. Forgiveness and the peaceful resolution connected though, took time.
Helen was never able to show me affection or love – no one in the Phypers family was really capable, seeing me as the intruder who was neither understood or wanted. They did however, enjoy the extra income which allowed for a better lifestyle, at least Helen and Duncan did. I do question whether the other children really benefitted as their jealousy and resentment seemed to stem from the fact I had more opportunities. They found many occasions to remind me how spoiled I was, “the little princess”, something which continued through my youth and into adulthood. Until the dreams and memories began there was no comprehension on my part for this view of me. What was felt, was isolation, sorrow and a big hole in my heart which was inexplicable .
So why now? Why is Helen here? Is she wishing to tell me something? Or is it forgiveness she seeks?
A message seems likely as on her death bed she did request my presence, explaining to my daughter she wished to see me and talk to me. At the time there was still so much distrust towards that family, I felt I could not risk going to see her. There was no connection, nor had there ever been, so although there was some degree of curiosity, not enough for me to spend money we did not have to find out.
It could also be for forgiveness as she did much requiring me to do so. Yet this was something I have been doing this past week, my forgiveness of her one of the first on my list. Still, perhaps I have not accomplished this completely as I’d hoped.
What has been at the forefront of my thoughts this morning is exactly how little connection Helen and I had. She benefitted significantly from my presence in her life, yet she could not bring herself to even show me kindness for the most part, keeping me at arms length. There was no feeling of being wanted while living with the family, the exception was Duncan, at least until I turned 11 at which time hugs were no longer permitted – I was too old. No surprise what bond there was, at least until my first child was born, was with Duncan, although I must emphasize, connection did not mean having comfort in his presence – quite the opposite actually.
The year 1981, just before the birth of my son, the world of the Phypers collapsed into financial ruin, they had done something to rock the boat and were being taught a lesson in humility. This marked the year my separation from them began as the cracks were beginning to show. This was when I began to open my eyes to just how much different I was from them, feeling deep inside they were not my family, yet having nothing to prove otherwise.
Perhaps Helen then wishes to clarify the situation which caused my need to walk away from the life of lies I had been living.
When I think of her, there is just space. No anger, no hatred, no love, no sympathy……just this void which seems cold and impersonal. The void experienced in my childhood had to do with tremendous loss, so it was not cold like this void when thoughts of Helen occur. Today has been kind of an eye opener as this all comes to the surface for me. How little I feel for the woman I thought was my mother for almost 30 years, has left a strong impression on me today. One would think there would be something after living with her for so many years, but there is really nothing there. In fact if I bring any of the Phypers into my thoughts now the forgiveness has begun, there is the same reaction – an emptiness which needs no filling.
The stark difference when thinking of my birth mother, especially since finding forgiveness, is love, compassion and sorrow for all the years missed with her. As was stated in my post yesterday, when the process began of letting go, all I wanted was to be cradled in her arms as I did when I was a child. When I think of my father or see his photos, normally I cry, almost every time. This is becoming common as well for my mother – thinking of her as I am now the tears flow freely, something which couldn’t happen before. When I think of Helen or Duncan, as was just said, there is nothing. The heart knows the truth, the spirit knows the truth, even though no one else can see it.
I am listening to a song called “The Things We’ve Handed Down” by Marc Cohen which is reminding me of something I’ve been meaning to put down in writing. This post seems to be a very appropriate location for this list of things handed down, showing what my mother and I have in common.
- She was a ballerina – ballet lessons became my life, my love
- She loved classical music – my trips to the philharmonic were also big highlights teaching me to love classical music, although it came very easily
- She loved horses – one of my first memories with my mother is being held as I fed my horse, the death my horse Angel the first in a long line of tragic loss
- She loved animals – animals have been such an important part of my life as I’m more connected to them than people
- She loved a perfume call Kriger Lovely Patchouli – the only scent I’ve worn for the past 25 years is patchouli, and sometimes sandalwood
- She was an artist, painting several images – as I learn to paint these past few months I am reminded of how important art has been to me. Being self taught, there was an overpowering desire to draw in my late 20’s. It became the most important aspect of my healing
- My mother was known for her grace and beauty – I cannot say I am beautiful, but my father made a point of telling me one night 4 years ago that I am a very gracious woman. At the time it felt like he was telling me something more. I have often been told I am very graceful and beautiful
She was a bit rebellious – this is something about myself which most do not see, but got me in trouble over the years
Now if I were to make a list of things I had in common with any of the Phypers it would have just one connection. Duncan learned to paint with oils late in his life and Bruce my adopted brother painted with water colors. At this, I would have to stop because there is nothing else which can be compared to them indicating we share the same genes. Also my DNA test done 4 years ago showed there was no connection that way either. Duncan was Flemish and Helen Polish. My DNA did not indicate anything from those regions. Ireland was the strongest – both my parents have Irish bloodlines. Although I have to state the company who did my DNA profile lost the file for a few weeks, something which caused suspicion at the time and still does today. Had this occurred at a time when it would have been mailed, an easier explanation could have been made, but a digital file? When I phoned to enquire why it was taking so long they could not explain where it was, taking another week or so before it landed in my email box. Make your own conclusions.
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