September 2008 - The Straw

The phone calls started coming in September at night. Gudrun - my mom, would call me crying from the Carmichael movie theatre parking lot in El Paso, Texas. I am in Los Angeles. Having nowhere else to go she would sit in the parking lot for hours and talk to me. She would always apologize first for bothering me. Always sorry to burden me with her problems. Ashamed that she needed to ask for help. It would take me 10 minutes to make her feel okay about reaching out. I knew inside that for her to even make the calls meant that things were really really bad.

My parents have been completely miserable for as long as I have been conscious to the world. And when you grow up in an angry home you become conscious very quickly or you learn how to stay unconscious very quickly. I choose poorly. I became conscious and felt every painful moment of humiliation, anger, abuse, shame, neglect and punishment that my father gave my mother. Being of her generation, being German, being stoic, being a "good wife", the rock, she learned to swallow her feelings. She also became a good actress. No one who knew her would ever know that she was so deeply unhappy, not even her best friend. She never complained. Always pretended that everything was fine. The way to keep it that way is to never have anyone come to your house. Ever. I don't ever remember my parents having friends over for dinner or parties. Or even just random drop ins for coffee. The palpable air of tension in the house acted like a force field to keep people out. So for this woman who had been living in this shit life for this long to finally reach a moment where she would actually admit to me that she couldn't take it anymore was epic. And I had to listen. And I wanted to do everything I could.
My frustration with the fact that she has been with that nutjob for so long made me want to say useless things like, what took you so long, how can you stand to be near him and what the HELL ARE YOU DOING!!!!! But how helpful is that really to someone thousands of miles away who is so afraid, sobbing and looking for concrete answers. So what to do?

There are no easy answers for this trip. Like all journeys that start with a single step I realize I need to break this down for her as simply as I can. I need to teach her to crawl or maybe she's been crawling for so long I need to show her she can actually walk. Not just walk but run. So I tell her the first thing you need to do is admit to someone other than me that you need help. You need someone in El Paso, near you. You need to tell Elfie (her best friend) that you have a problem with Dad and that you need her help to get out. I will help you too but now is the time to circle your wagons, call in for the cavalry, put out the bat signal and get the Kraut armada together. Get Elfie on the phone!!! She is all of those and more in her mighty 4'9" frame.

I didn't even ask what prompted this. I didn't care. It didn't matter. The camel's back was broken. And it was the hardest moment in my life to hear this beautiful woman, my mom, so completely and desperately crying for help. A howl from what was left of her spirit for someone to give her some hope that continuing this life was somehow worthwhile.

I said: "Mom - promise me that you will tell someone you are unhappy."
She said: "I promise"
That night she called Elfie. That night she started to talk. Torrents of tears and words. And that night, Elfie made her a cup of tea, gave her a shot of whiskey and told her she was an idiot for not saying something sooner. And Elfie told her what she needed to hear most. She said that she was her friend and that she would help her figure it out and that she had nothing to be ashamed of.

And that's the start of this journey. My mom, Elfie and me. I write it now, knowing the beginning, the middle but not yet the end.