This week’s share is something that came up for me this week watching the Netflix Series, Virgin River. Virgin River is about a big city nurse, Mel, recently widowed, who leaves her home town of Los Angelas to become a mid wife for a small town in the redwoods of northern California. She’s escaping the pain from her past where she meets Jack, another person who’s also plagued with past demons, along with some other great characters.

 

Similar to This Is Us, Virgin River always has a way of tugging at my emotional heart strings. Today’s share is a conversation between Mel and Jack that really affected me.

 

If you’re interested in watching this scene it’s Season 2: Episode 6 38:00 minutes in.

 

Let’s set the background.

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At the beginning of the year, a friend’s mother in my Accountability Group passed away. We gathered last week on Zoom to support his loss. A couple hours after that meeting, I found out my uncle was in the ICU for his heart. He needed surgery, but was too weak to have it done. He passed away the next day.

 

To help process the loss and my questions about unhealed childhood trauma, I wrote about what we don’t say at a funeral service that we really need to learn to talk about. I struggled if the quote I used on this week’s Motivational Monday blog was appropriate (it didn’t feel so motivational to me), yet I posted it anyway. Grief is a part of life.

 

This week’s share day is on grief.

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(started June 2, 2020)

 

“Nancy!” My stepfather bellowed, “You have to do something about YOUR child! I will not have him whining and acting up in my house!!”

 

“It was our house first,” I wanted to scream from the safety of my bedroom. “You moved in,” I mouthed, defeated and withdrawing once again. It was better to stifle my anger, my pain, my sadness. It was safer to keep my mouth shut. When I spoke, I only enraged him, and he took it out verbally on my mother. At seven years old, I was the cause of all their fights.

 

I heard the change in my mother’s voice, the resignation, her sadness. I knew what was coming next. The slam of the front door, the squealing of tires, followed by a deathly silence for a couple of hours until he returned. I knew there was nothing I could do to care for my mother. She had already shut down.

 

It was different now.

 

She no longer needed me.

 

I squeezed my stuffed triceratops, hid under my blanket, believing if I had never been born, then my mother would be happy. He wouldn’t have anything to get mad about. He only lost his temper when I screwed up and when my mother rose to protect me; Mama Bear suppressed to silence.

 

Alone, scared, and craving to be held and nurtured, I cried myself, once again, to sleep.

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