Rainbow Hour

Rainbow Hour

There is a magical time in my day in the late afternoon when the sun hits the crystals in the window and puts rainbows all over the ceiling and walls. It makes me feel peaceful and nostalgic for some reason. I don’t question why. I am just delighted to see them day after day. The rainbows spark a knowing that God is with me in a different way than other times of the day.

Today I felt a memory of my father invoked in me by the rainbows and I just went with the flow. I wanted to see where it would take me. That is when I came to an insight however painful that I have never fully forgiven my mother for so many things. I thought I had but when conversation about her comes up it is always very bitter and hurt. There is also a lot of anger. Here I am in my sixty-first year still in a spiritual quandary about my mom. Go figure, but it is there never-the-less.

So I once again ask the question how do I know if and when I have really let her go? How do I know if I have forgiven her and more importantly myself in the process? In the last part of her life I reacted to her with hate and bitterness and had essentially turned off my heart toward her. I am not proud of that fact. The only thing I have to say in my defense is I did not know what I know now. My spiritual path was a lot newer then. I have grown so much as the years have passed. I cannot take back the things I said to her out of anger and hurt feelings. I am not sure I even want to. I think a lot of what was said was to shock her out of her destructive behavior but it never happened.

She truly did hurt me more than any other person in my life has but I think that is the case with a lot of us. Our parents can hurt us the most.

Now I can feel God’s presence pumping through my heart and veins encouraging me to write about it and so I shall. I don’t know if this will help anyone else but that is why I write it. Maybe in the process I can help myself.

The memory that has come back to me this day is of my father terrorizing us when he had been drinking. He did this so many times that my childhood was like a war zone. I never knew when the enemy would show up and drop a bomb or two. He had an explosive temper and the beatings we all endured made us feel less than human.

Although she would try and comfort us after he was on a tirade, she never stopped him from doing it. I know now that I hated her for that. I guess I never wanted to admit that I hated either of my parents at any time but I did. It was not a constant hate but it was there and I felt so guilty and dirty and that God would never accept me because of it. In religious circles that it is a big No No to hate your parents or to even speak against them. At least that is what I was taught in my childhood years. Honor thy mother and thy father. Does that mean unconditionally? If it does there is something wrong with that commandment.

My father used to say that we should respect him because he was our dad no matter what he did or said, because he said so. I would cringe when I heard those words. He would deny us so much just because he said so and if we were even a tiny bit brave or stupid enough to voice an opinion on the matter it would be followed by a beating, being grounded or whatever he could think of for punishment. His reason was insubordination.

We were kids and trying so hard to grow up enough to get out of the house any way we could. Our role models for life were sadly lacking.

After we all left home it didn’t get much better. Every single one of us made terrible decisions. We were flying by the seat of our pants. We were never allowed to make a decision or voice our concerns or objections. We were punished for speaking so as we became adults we had a fear bred into our thinking hats. The real world was something we were ill prepared for. Understandably so we all suffered lots of trauma and drama. Granted we brought it on ourselves but we were living our lives through the filter of our upbringing.

I thought that life was supposed to be that way. I knew no other way. I could see that other people had good lives and made good decisions but why couldn’t I?

Dad used to threaten to leave every now and then if he was fully in the drink. That brought a complete terror meltdown to my mother because she had 5 kids, didn’t finish high school and had never worked because he would not let her. I had almost forgotten about that but for some reason I remembered that as I was watching the rainbows dance around the room. I am glad I didn’t block it because now I know why she didn’t stop him.

She was as frightened as we were…probably more so than us. The feeling of abandonment was a slice through the heart when he would say that. This is the memory that surfaced as I watched the colored prisms of light dance all over the room. I had somehow forgotten that he would threaten to leave.

Now, I can forgive my mother for not protecting us and for walking on egg shells around this man she called her husband. What would she do if he left? What could she do? I know there are a lot of single mothers out there who do just fine but my mother was a weak woman and did not have that kind of inner strength. The dancing lights led to another memory that I had blocked out. It was the memory of her telling me that if dad ever left she might have to take us to an orphanage because she didn’t think she could raise us alone. She would ask me to be on my best behavior and keep the rest of my siblings quiet. We would all be walking on egg shells around him.

These memories revealed to me in the rainbows light were a surprise. I had no idea I had blocked it out. It made me understand so much more than before.

In gratitude I thanked God for allowing this for me. Life is a never-ending journey and I guess God felt it was time for another piece of the puzzle to be revealed. I can let go of all the hurt and fear of being abandonment now. I know where it comes from.

I stand as a witness to my thoughts and my life and know that memories can never really hurt us and in fact, can help us and today I feel more whole than I ever have. In retrospect I forgive myself for being so angry at mom and at times said some awful things to her at the end of her life.

Why now in my sixty-first year did I remember such a vital piece of my childhood? I think God felt it was time. Each thing I learn about myself makes me stronger and more compassionate toward others. It makes me a better speaker and teacher. Out of the dark into the light came memories during rainbow hour came some pieces of me that had been buried. For the first nine years of my childhood I had very little memory and now they come to me each one a gift of myself to myself. This is just something to think about.

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