369 TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR Part 21

21
Imagine Grandma Ella’s mental torment after her daughter and son-in-law flee the apartment, carrying their lifeless bundle, wrapped in pink.  Imagine endless minutes, dragging into hours—imagine Ella pacing, pleading with God to be merciful—until finally, her son-in-law’s key turns the tumbler in the lock.  Ella runs to the door and blanching white as milk, she stands perfectly still, clasping both fists, prayer-like, beneath her chin.  The front door to our apartment swings open.  Jennie and Jack stand framed in the doorway.  The dull glaze of their eyes tells all. As instinct alerts Ella to the fact that far from being over, the anguish has just begun—every fiber of her being electrifies.

Two pairs of grief-struck eyes interlock with my grandma’s tormented stare. When Jennie's legs move woodenly across the threshold where grief awaits after shock wears thin is the powder pink blanket still draped loosely in her hand?

Fifty-five years after Sudden Infant Death Syndrome stole her child, my mother, nestling against me on my patio swing, expresses how she’d watched her mother’s face darken from chalk white to beet red.  And while I listen, utterly rapt, Mom describes Grandma’s fists beating her chest while agonized shrieks repeat this refrain:

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“Oy Gudt!  Gudt! It’s my fault! It’s all my fault!  Why didn't I check on her?”

Jeannie, crying—grasps her mother’s shoulders, attempting to reassure her to no avail—

“Ma! The doctor said it’s no one’s fault.  Ma! It’s not your fault!”

While my small, up turned face plays anxious witness to the alarming nature of heart-piercing torment on all sides, my left hand reaches up toward one long, dark, shiny braid, which I’ll hold against my cheek, while my left thumb (always my left thumb) slides reassuringly into my mouth.  Now, with fingers tucking the curl at the end of that sweet smelling plait, comfortingly, under my nose, bewilderment, expressed in my eyes, remains fixed on scenes of mental torment, just like this one, which will take center stage in our lives for quite a long time.  For weeks without end, the braid on the right side of my head swings in synchronized motion with the upward tilt of my woebegone expression, which spins from Mommy's face to Daddy's to Grandma's, and thus does the sponge-like mind of a vulnerable child soak in anguished devastation, sucking human spirits dry of joy.

Had a camera snapped my image during that lengthy time, extending month after month, I’m sure a photo album would show the nails on my right hand scratching intensely into the crook of my left arm; however, here’s something no photo can expose:  Little by little, an anxious sense of insecurity will drill a hole into a four year old's high spirited, frightened little soul.  And from that fateful time forward, the self-confident nature of this blue-eyed, dark haired, little girl will have sprung a secret leak.

As twenty-four hour days drag into weeks and months and this torturous time extends without end, imagine me lying on the living room floor, or curled up in my favorite spot, under the octagon, Chinese table in our front hall, sucking my thumb, twirling the curl at the end my braid, wondering—as did my mother and father—what happened to our baby?  Where did my baby sister go? Why did Janet disappear? Why couldn't she come back?  Why is everyone crying?  Why can't Mommy get out of bed?  What reassuring words can comfort a frightened child when a mysterious disappearance combines with heart-wrenching declarations of personal guilt on the part of one of three primary caregivers?
Then, after several weeks—when a crushing weight is unexpectedly foisted upon my mother—what impact might another sudden ice storm lay upon a four year old's psyche, which has been swerving away from 'centered' during this crucial stage of emotional development?  How might fearful traits, filtering into core strengths, influence invisible changes in my relationships?
As compassion melts into empathy, what will result when I can no longer sense one from the other?  And what of the relationship that I'm actively developing with myself?  How might the overwhelmed, undeveloped brain of a small child employ her defense system to dismiss excessive fears, which flood the conscious mind with confusion, self-doubt, anxiety and empathetic reactions as weeks and months go by?  *As I grow toward adulthood, how might subconscious anxiety coupled with empathy weave into the fiber of my parenting techniques?
(Thank goodness, I'll feel curiously compelled to attend parenting classes where a slew of adopted vulnerabilities will begin to absorb the importance of listening and speaking skills!)

If you ask why I'm drawing this self-portrait with such precise detail, I’d say:  As children’s personalities evolve, it's often difficult to differentiate between traits, which are innate and those acquired, experientially.  One day I’ll choose to stop sucking my thumb; however heightened levels of anxiety will cause me to itch to get out of my skin, throughout most of my life.  *Though the intensity of this itch will always be in direct proportion to how frightened, disillusioned, or disappointed I’ll feel behind the shield of my ever-ready-to-please-or-solve smile—that fact will remain unidentified until I have reason to study the ways in which denial erects defensive walls, behind which I'll keep scary secrets from myself.

In another self-portrait, which is easy for me to conjure up, today, we’d see a snap shot of a self-reliant little girl, who’ll have learned to keep herself contentedly entertained with books.  However, somewhere inside the darkroom of this child’s subconscious, a negative will not develop into a recognizable photograph until insight illuminates the main root of her anxieties, several decades, later.  Once this negative has been developed and held up to the light, we'll clearly see highlights, showing this child’s habit of rarely verbalizing any personal problems, which might caused a downcast expression to appear on either of her parents’ faces, as you'll see when we review the series of posts entitled: BULLY FOR ME.

Whenever fear or disappointment strikes my heart, denial will smother my cries, thus highlighting my inability to articulate the depth of pain I hide—from myself—in a pocket of my mind.  (Have you read the series of posts entitled: FIRST KISS?)    Once I’m finally able to differentiate my pain from that of my parents, I’ll consider myself fortunate, because it’s impossible to follow one’s heart until we do not fear flying solo.  *As you shall see, I'll have lots to learn about relationships, which grow enmeshed vs. those that grow close, in that the latter offers each person brain space to think clearly enough to make 'unpopular' decisions, based upon self trust.  *In short, I won't develop into myself until I recognize my vulnerabilities and work to free inner strengths, which childhood confusion had tied into knots.

As LIFE evolves and circumstances change, there is reason why the emotional climate within each home takes on a uniquely different atmosphere for every child.  *With depth perception, it becomes apparent that siblings, who share the same parents in the same house, are raised in dissimilar emotional environments.  I've come to believe it's easier to offer children roots than wings.
*While some children grow up feeling parched for affection, others may feel enmeshed or smothered, while at the other end of the spectrum, a fourth group stands separate and observant or openly rebellious.  Then there are children, who are consciously encouraged to develop such a sense of self trust that, with each step, taken toward adulthood, they feel open enough to discuss their discouragements, fears and differing opinions.  Rather than being chided when they don't conform, these children are gently guided to confront and work through their fears in such a mindful way as to achieve success in various aspects of life by approaching long-range goals in a step-by-step brainstorming fashion.  As the fears of these children are aired in an environment where emotional safety is assured, their instinctive connection to self confidence is enhanced for this reason:  When role models consciously tame their own impatience and tantrums by way of embracing creative methods of self control, anxiety quells, all round.  And thus does common sense suggest that children—who learn by emulating adult role models who have learned to approach problems with patience intact—will eventually brain storm toward solutions by carving channels into their minds, where trains of thought, necessary to making wise decisions, develop, over time. 
*As there are healthy and unhealthy ways to offer love, receive love, and feel loved, pockets of insecurity, which give rise to anxieties, exacerbate confusion within us all.  Once confusion gets the upper hand, love signals, which feel natural to one, may be misperceived and thus 'feel' strangely ominous to another ...

We often hear love is grand ... And that is true unless inner conflict creates confusion, and rather than feeling grand, love swerves off course, and life grows crazier by the day!  If today's train of thought rings a bell, I hope you'll stick around, so I can show you what Annie chooses to do during those mind blowing stages when each of her adorable babies turns two, and then in a flash, she finds herself raising a passel of t'weens and teens—and when she feels sorely unheard—guess who goes on strike!

Hey!  I just realized that I've been developing some portion of my voice for most of my life … and perhaps the same is true of you!!