Part 4;
Surrogate Parents
Journal Entry
June 13, 2004
Vision about Soldiers
This was an interesting experience that happened to me this evening as I tried to meditate. Usually I have trouble stopping the chatter in my mind enough to have a proper meditation. On this occasion though I began to see images in my mind, which was almost like watching an old reel movie.
I began to see many soldiers holding guns. I don’t remember everything I saw because it took me by surprise and moved so quickly. Also, I could not tell where this took place, but it was on foreign soil, reminding me of Latin America although I can’t be more specific, and there was a lot of tension in the room with these men.
It was dark and hot, no lights, no windows. There was a woman in the room on her knees in front of one of the soldiers, forced to perform oral sex. At one point she looked back with an expression of great sadness and sorrow. At the time I felt she was looking at her husband who was also forced to watch. Or was she looking at me? Did she know I was there?
Was I there to witness her vulnerability in this situation? Was this one of my memories? She was dirty, her dress torn and messy. She turned back to face the man in front of her. There were other soldiers pacing back and forth and one of them kept going behind her blocking my view. Then I started to see other things, which at first came as blurred images.
Suddenly a woman’s face became clear. She was 40-45, had olive coloured skin and short dark wavy hair. Her features were fine and she was very pretty, in a sophisticated way – elegant and quite sure of herself. I don’t know who she was. I did not recognize her so I am unsure why she came to me as such a strong presence. That was when I opened my eyes not wanting to see anymore. I am not sure why I saw these things or what they meant to me, but I was very upset at seeing them.
I wondered at the connection between the last woman whose image came to me and the first woman in the captive situation. At the time I had no idea who they were, although I suspected the captive was my surrogate mother forced to perform this act while she was in the camp. The other woman I now suspect was my surrogate grandmother who would have been responsible for bringing me to her for safekeeping when I was a baby.
Despite their best efforts to protect me, how could they have known the inevitability of these events? We cannot escape the path we are destined to take and although we try to prevent it, the truth leaks out whether we can accept its reality or not. Although it has been very difficult to go back and face these memories, I am grateful for the truth, this is how healing begins
The Child…..the Room
“He came, he’s here!” Her first thought as she opened her eyes, the touch of her fathers whiskers against her cheek.
But no, it is a memory of a happier place and time. Her eyes take in the barren room, feels the silence, and tears fall as understanding strikes her. They are coming for her once more, the new fragment of joy already fading into the fear.
When they return her to the isolation of the room, she weeps for the woman she considered a mother. “She looked me straight in the eyes papa, she was so strong and brave. I know she was trying to stop me from feeling what was happening to her, but I felt everything they did to her. Papa….….where are you?”
The bond between woman and child was too strong. The gate was wide open and there was no way to prevent what she was feeling. Her small body hurt in ways a child that age should never understand. When would they stop hurting her?
The Adult…..the Room, Ecuador
For her this day is one of remembering, but unfortunately not a good memory.
She went to bed last night full of a surprising amount of rage, but not really sure what triggered it. Rather than try to stop it, she let it pour out, screaming ranting, and throwing out obscenities. The direction of this anger was towards everyone who has abandoned her, including and maybe especially the latest person to walk away, her son.
But it was more than being abandoned. It was the things said and done purposely by so many with the intention of hurting her. It seemed they wanted to destroy her and today, it feels as though they have succeeded. The desire to give up, very strong. Instead, she gave the entire, giant mess to Sapphire before finally falling asleep. Once she understood her life was built on so many lies, it has been only the truth she chases. During the last few years, having not much information really, there has been guilt about how the truth would affect her mother, and her mother’s family. Last night that sympathy went right out the window as she cursed them all.
They allowed her to suffer. In order to save their reputations or their wealth, or both, they allowed a young child to be tortured, raped and isolated, for the sake of money, for the continuation of an acquired lifestyle. The truth was buried, a good life was destroyed so they wouldn’t lose that which provided them with comfort. Last night the realization of all she went through so they didn’t have to lose what they cherished made her erupt, condemning them all to the fires of hell.
Waking sometime through the night with another memory, she began all over to curse them for their hate and greed, for being such cowards. There just were not enough words to aim at them for the acts of cruelty against her and how many others.
In her dream, after watching her surrogate mother being thrown from the plane, she too was made to fly out the door of the plane. Screaming as she fell, watching the others who fell with her. Suddenly there was a man holding her from behind. He was dressed in a brown suit and he tried to comfort her holding her close. And then just as suddenly, he was gone. He continued to fall as she was lifted up, now falling at a much slower rate. She was wearing a parachute, and he pulled the necessary chord for her, saving her life. Her mind could not connect to the action required to make the parachute open, fear and the extreme cold preventing her from doing as she had been instructed. Her light summer dress was all she was wearing, her small body not protected from the cold air at such a high altitude. Presuming she would have landed in the ocean along with those she accompanied out of the plane, the thought explaining her fear of water, heights and being so cold. Their bodies would have smashed into the water, the ocean becoming their grave, dying anonymously as they drifted, then sank into the depths.
Curling up in a tight ball as she tried to stop the shivering, she once more felt the rage boil to the surface. No longer having concern for those who can be hurt by her unexpected presence. Given a choice, she would throw them all into their own rooms of silent torture to endure what she went through. How else could they understand the extent of their selfishness and what it cost her? Last night and this morning, there were no possible explanations justifying their actions, there never will be.
While she understands it is not up to her to decide the fate of any of them, it felt great to give the pent up anger it’s rightful place. Over the years, the power of her anger when allowed to seep out, frightened her. It carried with it the possibility of doing terrible things in retaliation. She did not want to be such a person, whose hate destroyed them, the anger kept carefully in check, avoiding the possibility.
Her silent screams filled the air last night, the full weight of the the burden carried for so long felt by those responsible, dead or alive. Of this she was sure. She will carry them no longer.
Today as she writes, she feels empty. For as long as necessary, she will allow this hopelessness to exist in her. Feeling like this as an adult, how must it have felt for a child of 3 years? Trapped in a box, never knowing why or for how long she must endure. The death of everyone she loved placed firmly on her shoulders, a guilt carried throughout her entire life. Today she began the process of releasing all of it.
All she wanted was truth, what she received was lies, guilt and deception. Sapphire took her burdens. If it is her responsibility of proving who she is, then the means must somehow be provided for her to continue this journey in order to do so. The opportunity and the proof must come to her. Having looked for 30 years she will no longer do so. I am empty, she thinks, completely empty – the responsibility now belongs to spirit. Without proof, this is a fight she cannot win, something she understands, nor can she continue alone. Indeed she is at a crossroads, but until the correct path is clearly defined, and the means provided to continue arrive, she will wait right here. She no longer has a choice.
Journal Entry
September 10, 2017
Tree Top Drop
Fifteen years to the day, it is amazing to find myself having this experience. Not prepared for what would happen that day, only showing up to participate in a “Fun day” for the employees where I worked. We all met in the parking lot of the hotel where we worked, then walked to the “Treeosix Adventure Park” just up the road.
It is in the trying that we heal, become stronger and step a little further from what we perceive as our comfort zone. Failing comes from not trying at all, even in our thoughts.
Although it was incredibly difficult for me to climb up the ladder to the tree top drop, I kept going, fighting the fear with each step. I got to the top and thought, ‘I made it this far, it will be ok, I’ll just step off and it’s done.’ I was absolutely not prepared for the panic I would feel when I went to make that step off the narrow platform.
It was not that I didn’t trust the rope or mechanism, I just could not manage the idea I was stepping into nothing. The panic was amazingly strong. I could not go forward, nor could I go back I was so scared. I had no idea I could be so paralyzed with fear, unwilling to jump. After all, I had been able to experience the zip-line a few years before which I thought would be basically the same thing. Not so!
As I went to step off the ledge of the platform something incredible happened to me. Feeling the air beneath my foot triggered the memory and in my mind clear as a picture, I saw my surrogate mother’s face as she fell from the plane. And worse, I felt her go. It was as if my body was falling too, watching her disappear.
No matter what was said or how I tried to convince myself I was strong enough, I could not do it. I felt utterly defeated as I at last found my way back down.
September 10, 2002
This unexpected reaction occurred while attempting a ‘tree top drop,’ triggering this long forgotten memory. The sense of empty space overwhelmed as I put one foot over the edge—shocked at the depth of emotion I felt in this moment. I now understood it had not been just a bad dream. It was real. It happened. I had watched this woman fall to her death.
Three years later I would read of the horrific practice of ‘disappearing’ Argentinians labeled traitors to the state, drugged to minimize struggle then pushed out of a plane. She was so calm, looking back with a gentle smile on her face as she rapidly fell from sight.
I remember being on that plane, sitting behind the pilot and co-pilot. We were flying. It was not a passenger plane but I would say one used for the military because there were no seats and it was meant for cargo or for parachuting. The woman in my memory with the horse was standing in front of me. She looked so sad but I was distracted because I saw a man fall out of the open door.
And as I looked towards him my surrogate mother also fell from the plane. I do not know if she was pushed or jumped. I do not think she was wearing a parachute. But as she fell she turned her body so she could see me and she just smiled as if telling me everything would be fine. I still cry as I write this or think of her. I never saw her again. I can only assume she died that day.
For many years I had wondered about this incident, who the people were and why I had to watch them fall from the plane. It was a very eerie experience. I was so young and could not understand what was happening or why.
It has haunted me over the years because I felt a connection to the woman, but was unsure of why. Not knowing where she went or if she lived has bothered me since the return of this memory. I kept hoping that she did have a parachute or the man who fell before her did and somehow managed to save her.
I believe it was the not knowing first of all why it happened, and second what happened to her that helped to keep the memory locked away for so long. It has only been during the last year I have been able to place this woman and understand she was charged with looking after me by my birth parents for those first two years of my life. I have no memory of her name, but call her my surrogate mother, knowing she fulfilled a significant role in caring for me when my birth parents could not. In the end it cost her her life.
It was hard to walk back to the car and go home knowing I could not overcome this fear, especially when I had faced it in other ways and succeeded. Climbing the side of a mountain, zip lining, standing on the edge of a cliff, going in an airplane, going in a glass elevator etc. But never before have I felt this weightlessness which overwhelmed my sense of determination.
Just seeing her face as she turned back to look at me to assure me everything would be ok is overwhelming. But how could it be ok? There was no relief from this unexpected bombardment of my senses. I felt so alone as I walked away and began my journey home. I was beginning to comprehend the level of fear and isolation I must have felt as a three or four year old going through this experience.
How do you find balance and security when you’ve watched someone who you love and who loves you, who is supposed to make your world safe fall from your sight, never to be seen again?
As the days passed while I faced my shame and embarrassment, I began to realize something which came as a very gentle surprise. I had not failed at all. I had made a rather big step forward in my journey towards freedom.
I had faced the dragon within and while I did not defeat him on the one hand, I have found peace within and acceptance at my limitation with the situation. That scar so deeply hidden inside my heart, I had forgotten it was there began to heal and feel lighter. And so the journey continues, one step at a time…
The Adult, Ecuador
She came here to finish writing her book, hoping in some way her story would benefit others who suffer as she does with PTSD. When the memories began, she couldn’t understand the messages they carried, so fragmented and confusing. They were reminding her somehow of a different life, one she should remember, but couldn’t. They told her the family she had lived with her entire life, was not really her birth family, she began this life in another country, her birth parents loved her. It was a welcome thought because she had felt hated her whole life, never understanding what she could have done to inspire so much anger and jealousy towards her.
One of the memories bothered her a great deal for many years after receiving it. She had been in a room, barren, cold and empty of life. The room was a color of beige or off white. There were no windows, and the lights were on, dimmed as if they were always that way. She could sense someone was coming to get her. They took her in her nightie and put her in the back seat of a car. There were 3 men in the car, the driver, someone in the passenger seat, there was love for him and another man beside her. They drove to a place she didn’t know, it was dark and she didn’t understand why they stopped in the middle of nowhere. She was only about 3 years old when this happened, unaware of the world and how cruel it could be. She would know now though.
Without warning there was a loud crack and she saw the man in the front seat slump against the window, he was dead and she was in shock. The man beside her was also shot, but this barely registered as she watched the blood sliding down the window. And then she woke, fear, confusion and great sadness enveloping her as she focused her thoughts.
Re-writing this story for the book had been difficult for her. At the time the dream happened she did not understand who the man shot in the front seat was. Now she had the knowledge this man had cared for her the first 2 years of her life, a life which began in Argentina. Now as she wrote about this experience, there was deep emotional connection making it difficult to face again.
Her trek to Ecuador, first bringing her to the shaman who she befriended during his visits to Canada, is where she would begin to find her home, her past, her family. Leaving everything behind that she had learned to find comfort with, was not easy. There was no going back to that life now. With limited funds, she hoped the book or her artwork would somehow provide her with income allowing her to travel to other countries as she searched for the proof she needed to claim her heritage. It all seemed so simple at the beginning. Thinking once she was here the pieces would fall into place with greater ease. But her story was never simple, her parents not your average people. She had much work to do, although she did not want to hear this right now. She would continue to write her stories, prepare her book for publication. One step at a time, one day at a time……
The Child….the Room
What could she do with all this pain she just experienced? It was not her pain, no, but she felt it all the same. The pain became hers, something she would carry as if what she saw was her own experience. This is why they made her watch, they knew about her ability, understood how it affected her to not be able to heal the pain, only carry it.
Alone in her room after such an experience was overwhelming for one so young. She had not been taught how to handle this sort of situation. Why would she have? These memories became her only companions. All the beauty of what once was, enveloped by all this tragedy. So much pain! Too much.
“Papa where are you? Why haven’t you come for me?” She calls for her father, but he cannot hear her cries for help. Still over and over she calls, hope fading as her voice becomes a whisper.
In her mind she can see her small toes clutching the boots of her father. A beautiful melody is playing in the background as they waltz. So much love…..where was he? Where did the music go?
They are coming, she can feel them long before she hears the sound of the sliding door open. Fear once more felt in the pit of her stomach. She wonders what will happen this time. The beautiful memory of her father becoming tangled up in the fear of what was surely coming.
Back in her room, the shock is wearing off. The experience of seeing her beautiful friend and companion being shot at close range as she sat a few feet behind him, unbearable. Curled up in a ball on her bed, the only object in the room, she shivers, then begins to shake violently. The sharp pain as the bullet entered his left temple became endless for her. The man sitting in the car beside her also died, but it barely registered in her mind. Overcome with grief and pain with what she witnessed, she knew she had to put the memory away, lock it up so she could no longer feel the pain and the sorrow.
The man had cared for her during the first 2 years of her life, became like a father to her, his wife like a mother. They loved her as if she was their own child, as she loved them. They filled her with so much love, it would never have occurred to her there could be such hate in the world able to take it all away.
Who would sing to her now? Who would read to her as she fell asleep wrapped in the warmth of his love? “Papa where are you? They killed him papa. Our beautiful friend, they killed him. I felt his pain and my head hurts so much papa, there is no relief. Please papa come for me…..”
Journal Entry
September 19, 2015
Dream About Being Shot
On this night I had a dream that gave me comfort in connection with the previous dream of the shootings. Once again Spirit has found a way to give me peace from an unexpected source and it is gratifying to have this understanding. I was ready to face the reality I had no control over a world I did not understand. I was ready to forgive myself for the burden I never asked for, but carried because I loved the man who died that night. I was ready to accept he gave his life so I might continue with mine.
I dreamt that I was somewhere reminding me of time spent in Mexico. I was with a group of people and we were being rounded up and forced into a line. We weren’t cooperating very well, I imagine because we were confused and scared, being lined up as we were about to be shot. When it was my turn I was forced to the ground onto my stomach. The man who was going to shoot me straddled my body as I tried to curl up in a fetal position. He put the gun to my head and pulled the trigger. I felt a searing sharp pain that lasted a few seconds or less. Hard to judge really, and then there was nothing. In that moment I awoke, realizing I could still feel the pain from the bullet, it had been so realistic.
In dreams everything can happen so fast, leaving no time to react which in this case was a blessing. Feeling the bullet go into my head and realizing how short the period of suffering was, I could now understand the man who was shot in the car so many years ago would not have suffered long.
This seemed to release me from the burden of grief and guilt I have been carrying for him, believing I was the cause of his death and the pain I felt he must have suffered. It is said that time heals all wounds, but from my experience I wonder if it is more accurate to say we find ways to cope, but some wounds may never completely heal. We manage to find ways to move forward and accept, giving us the means to provide compassion and assistance to others. This in itself allows the continuing of the healing process, if we allow it.