The value in backtracking

My therapist says that she helps people suffering from trauma by teaching them how to live in the “here and now”. It’s a technique that often helps me get through the day. But there are times that backtracking also helps….

Tory has been having problems sexually acting out. The dog seems to be triggering much of his inappropriate behavior and I am finding myself peeling him off of Skippy and the dog on a regular basis. It’s exhausting on so many levels, and for a change, I’d rather not dwell on it.

Instead, let’s go over Thanksgiving. Yes, that can be an unpleasant subject as well, but in a rare breath of mercy we managed to have a successful one. A few days before we finally got a date for Fred’s surgery to remove the cavernous malformation in his brain. I have become so skeptical that I have been very slow in announcing this turn of events. How many times have I been made to believe and let down later? OK, I promised we wouldn’t go there….back to Thanksgiving: no family, no friends, no expectations, no cooking marathons. Just our dysfunctional family of six plus bulldog and chicken flock. We cooked leisurely throughout the day, just the staples, nothing special. We used many of the ingredients dropped off to us by our “secret admirers”. The table was also set with many of their gifts and the boys noted it. We all felt loved. We said a prayer of thanksgiving and ate. The little boys, as usual, ate very little. They have so many food aversions that Skippy is basically eating only bread and mayo….but they both liked the refrigerator rolls that Boe and I have been making since our very early married years–a recipe from a loving friend.

Then three days at home with no school or structure for the boys–a sure recipe for disaster. We let them play Wii Just dance, enjoyed the left-overs, stayed up watching TV with the older boys. I even spent a few hours painting with them. But Tory’s anger rages were still just barely under the surface. I decided to do the unthinkable. A winter family activity. We bundled up the lot and took them sledding amongst weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth (the grown-ups because of the cold, the kids because “why does he get a better sled than I do?”). We even bundled up the bulldog, poor beast.

The fresh air, and exercise reminded me that there is a whole world outside my doors. It was too cold to stay outside for very long, but it was long enough, and it was a blessing. Everyone had a great time, even Bill, who generally avoids physical exertion at any cost.

As we walked home, I was reminded of why I love to paint. The light, low on the horizon cast such a spell of profuse, and intense colors–signs that spring will come….someday. Bill was recollecting a movie or story he had heard about a pioneer family crossing the plains to the Salt Lake valley. One of their children died on the way and the family buried her in the snow. But after trekking a few more miles the mom remembered that she had received a blessing stating she would reach the valley with all her children alive. The family turned around, dug the child up, warmed her by the fire, and she revived. True story? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll look it up. But it really doesn’t matter, because it brought back something to my mind that is true.

We found out that Fairbanks had sexually abused our boys in May of 2010. I’ll never forget those first days, the next morning. We had a talk with all the boys, told them that Fairbanks had told us, that is was OK for them to tell us too. We told them we would never have secrets again in our family. It was obvious from Tory’s behavior that we were getting too close to the truth. He told us of what happened to his “cousin” instead of telling us what happened to him. He didn’t know the right words, he just knew that they were “grown up” things, we left it at that. Boe offered all of them a priesthood blessing. I find it interesting that when Boe layed his hands on Tory, I knew what he would say.

When Tory was very young, not even two years old, he burned himself by reaching for a hot cup of tea. The insulated pajamas he was wearing made the burns even more severe and we ended up at the emergency room with the doctors contemplating having him medivac to a burn unit out-of-state. Our home teacher stopped at the hospital and he and Boe gave Tory a blessing. They blessed him that he would heal, and not a scar would be left behind. It took years, but indeed, Tory did heal, and there is absolutely not a trace of a scar on him from this incident.

Now at eight years old, here was Tory again, under the loving hands of his father, receiving a blessing from his Father in Heaven. Again he was told he would heal, and no scar would be left behind. Skippy was given a similar promise.

The skeptic in me (do we notice a pattern here?) said, not all scars are visible; the Lords time is not our own time; and healing does not always come in this life. But I could not ignore the meaning and intent behind the words. They gave me hope. Then the realities of raising children who have been severely physically and sexually abused by a trusted relative struck…one thing after another. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM! No time to think, just putting out fires….and Fred’s brain lesion, and hospitalizations, and suicide threats, loss of work, police, accidents, loss of income, restraining orders, feces and urine, broken system, judgement, more, more, more….and I forgot. I forgot the blessing. Boe forgot too. He couldn’t even remember when I reminded him. But Bill’s story reminded me, and I held on to the words….I held on to them while pulling Tory on the sled and watching the sun hang low on the frozen horizon….  without a scar! Somehow, someway, we were going to get through.

Fred and Bill were not given the same blessing, indeed, the rest of us will certainly bear heavy scars from this fiasco. But Tory and Skippy will not. Not from this. And that’s enough to get through another day.

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