Fact Finding

     I need facts. My mind works that way. Gather data, analyze data, formulate a plan, execute the plan, access, adapt along the way. Keeping true North - or in this case "My place of Peace" as my point to reach.
     So I did research on effects of mothers dying during or immediately after giving birth. Looking for long term psychological effects on the fetus. There is not a lot out there.
     One doctoral thesis had a paragraph giving a hypothetical analysis of long term effects on the newborn. OK, it pretty much described me. Other than that I have not found much.
   Over the past 10 years there is a bit more info. However most of it pertains to children who lose their mother after 6 months. There is more information on a mother's stress level during pregnancy and the effect on child.
     Not surprising a mother who is under stress during pregnancy has an increase in adrenal and cortisol hormones which are transferred to the baby. Some research suggests a fetus at least 24 months along has enough immune system to reject the mother's hormones. Other studies say just the opposite.
     I think we can all agree, smoking, drinking, stress will effect an embryo. As will playing music, talking with the fetus, massage, a healthy diet, proper neonatal nutrition.
    It is interesting that only human animals separate mother and newborn during the first moments of life. All other primates gather their babies for skin to skin contact. There is an evaluative process taking shape deciding if placing a newborn against mother's skin immediately will change long term psychological make up. That research(all pun intended) is in infancy.
     My aversion to research  compounded because I have not found enough information to analyze.
     I do not believe in evil. I have written about this before. Perhaps I should - my life certainly lends itself more to evils presence than absence. I won't give in to that.
     People commit acts that are evil. People engage in evil behavior - People are not born evil. I was in HS the first time I wrote a paper on this subject. I remember writing that paper because I had to open some boxes in order to gain enough information to write a strong paper.
     Goodness yes behavior of many people has and continues to shape my daily life.
     Last night I was telling Eileen about the book, "Courage to Heal." For most of my 20's that book was my bible. I have read two editions. Today I am going to see if a new edition came out, if not I will order the last edition.
     I believe it is the prologue from the second edition written by a woman who was in her 80's. A survivor of familial sexual abuse. This woman had been a nun her entire adult life. Travelled the world working with those who are so often forgotten. A nun - you cannot live a much more noble life. Priests get a lot more press than nuns.
     Anywho, this woman wrote that no matter how long you live, no matter how you live, you never forget...throughout life a simple smell, sound, sight can send you right back to your darkest moments. What you can do is find the courage to heal, develop coping mechanisms, fill your tool box with items that will help you get back to present day. That is not a direct quote - It has always stuck with me. If a woman well into her 80's, served humanity in totality, speaks of those moments when fear strikes you like a baseball bat - well, reckon a girl's gotta figure out a plan of recovery and refocus.
     In a conversation with a friend, also a survivor, she said the same thing - "You never get over it." Another friend said I should open all those boxes, let the light on them. My theory has pretty much been what I do remember is awful - what I don't remember must be really awful.
     There are gaps in my childhood memories. I don't know if what is in those boxes will fill in the gaps. I fear I might open a box, its contents just too much and I will lose the me I am.
     No perfection here - but I am not a bad person. Everyone of us has a story. We don't live 50 years without accumulating scars. No one does.
      Let me share with you a beautiful memory. I do not like the whole Christmas beginning in August thing. Already carols in the stores - I do love Christmas.
     Y'all know how much I adored the ground Mommie walked on. That is not to say I am blinded to her faults. She was a depressed alcoholic. She had a difficult time showing affection. She had a mean streak a mile long. She had a heart big as the moon. Mommie loved Christmas.
    I believe because her childhood was so awful she wanted her children to have at least a day of magic. We were living on Franklin Street. Christmas morning. Yule log playing on Channel 11, fire in the fire place, Daddy Pat napping in his recliner, (Ya' Know he clapped three times before he awoke, every time) wrapping paper strewn from here to there, four young girls oohing and ahhing over their gifts. Mommie, with a cup of Irish coffee in her hand was leaning on the wall between the dining room and living room. Standing in her robe, no make up, no wig - her blacked rimmed glasses on the table. I remember looking up at her - her eyes were rimmed red; tears of joy. It was the sparkle I saw. It was my Mommie, in that present moment, feeling that for at least these few precious moments she had done something right. Her eyes were happy. They were beautiful. She was beautiful. The moment was fleeting. It is ingrained in my happy place. Her eyes, I wish I knew how to describe them so you could comprehend how radiant they were. And how, for that moment, none of us were flawed, broken, beaten - we were her vision of perfection. I am glad she had that moment. Even more thankful I was able to see it.
    I look at the eyes. Everyone's eyes - on Mommie's last day on this Earth; when her speech was gone, her eyes still spoke. They were sad, begging me to leave her, begging me to help her leave. I held her hand and said she could leave but I was not leaving her. For that brief flash, it was there again - her eyes red rimmed, no make up, no wig, no glasses - that radiant flash when she was in her place of peace. Feeling, for all her failings and faults, in that present moment - right then - her hands in mine. Everything was as it should be. Her place of peace.
     As it turned out I did not stay with Mommie that night. She died at 3:20 am. Though I will always regret I was not there - I know she did not want me there. I do know in her last hours on this Earth, she felt peace. Maybe she never forgave herself for her shortcomings - In her eyes, in that fleeting moment - she was in her place of peace. That image is also ingrained in my skin.
     It is eyes. I look at people's eyes. Although I avert direct eye contact, when someone isn't looking, I search their eyes. This is why I do not believe in evil. I have seen eyes of darkness, empty eyes, eyes of hate...I have also seen eyes of love, eyes of peace, eyes of joy. Evil...maybe I wasn't looking when those eyes were right in front of me. More likely they just don't exist.