End Of Innocence Ch 07

Chapter VII, Descent into Madness

Our mother's slow descent into her own private Hell probably started the very second she released the rose from her hand almost seven months before. While the first manifestations that appeared were the obvious disconnect from reality, her refusal to come to grips with her and our tragic loss, she saw her two children as infamous reminders of what had been taken from her. Compounding the situation was the slow decay of her brain by the ingestion of copious amounts of poisons in the futile effort to drown her pain. Lack of exercise and proper nutrition paired with drugs and alcohol fueled her decline. All humans, whether they wish to agree or not, are created with the absolute need to socialize with other living entities so they may survive, repair, cope, and hopefully flourish but with our mother, she terminated that built-in ability to empathetically connect with others of her own kind and family. This impenetrable isolation and abuse caused what had been a wonderfully caring individual to dwindle into madness. Her specific psychosis gradually worsened with Ashley on the receiving end of her indignation.

My little sister received the blunt of our mother's hostility while my sweet angel was in unconditional need of her mother's love. We could understand, initially, our mother's grief. We were in throes of pain ourselves, the sense of loss dulling everything else in our lives. But as our mother retreated deeper into that dark tunnel that would not release her, into self-punishment for which there was no escape, Ashley's heart was crumbling to dust with thoughts that somehow, her mother's decline was her fault. It may have started with a snub there, a missed opportunity for mother and daughter to connect here, but as the insanity avalanched, our mother ceased to recognize the very existence of her precious child. Those initial months of isolation for my sweet princess were the worst. The bed we shared was continually coated with a layer of her fresh tears. Oh, how my heart wept for my sweet angel. How she tried with all the desire and understanding that that dear little girl was capable of, Ashley just could not reach her mother's love. I was constantly overwhelmed with complete trepidation that I would lose my love, my innocent little sister, to the horror overcoming and conquering our mother's life.

As Ashley slowly adjusted to life without her mother, the realization that her and I were all that was in our tiny existence, as she accepted her plight that perhaps the disease of her mother's mind was not some internal wrongness on her part, that she had some modicum of value that was imparted from her brother's eyes, finally knowing and embracing the worth found between sharing of mutual love bounded between two star-crossed lovers, in doing so, capturing some happiness in believing that for whatever reason that fate turned against her one respect, yet opened a door in another, as she was becoming a young woman in her own right, life decided to rain down upon her with malice once more. Ashley had found her love, her reason to exist, her spiritual happiness with the very first person she opened her eyes to as a newborn, and that existence was being threatened but the sheer lunacy of a person gone mad.

It started innocuously enough. We had begun to believe that our mother was making a stride back to reality when anger was finally showing its face, that perhaps, even if it was long overdue, our mother was fighting with whatever reserves were left in her psyche, to come to grips with tragedy, and emerge once more as our mother, the woman we loved and adored. It would be a quick nasty comment towards Ashley followed shortly by what appeared to be an act of genuine contrition asking forgiveness of my dear sister. A comment might have been uttered that the death of our father was my baby's fault or that she did not love our father as much as our mother. Immediately following a diseased comment would be what appeared to be a heartfelt apology and a struggle to find where the tragedy ended for my mother and reality stated. Ashley was heartbroken over these comments, this acid poured into the angelic nature of her essence, yet she would raise above all the blackness of those hurtful statements and embrace her mother's requests for forgiveness. Many times I was held back by my sister's hand, to allow time for our mother to heal as time was granted us. We had each other, she reminded me, we were our mother's children, and she had no one to share as we did. As I have said, my sister's love distinguishes no constraints and is eternally pure.

What we did not know and could not have possibly surmised at the time was that the picture in my mother's imagination was entirely different to what appeared in reality. Had we known, had we even possibly guessed, no matter how bizarre or remote the possibility, we would have had her committed on the spot. Although we had matured years farther than our chronological ages would have suggested, nothing in our short lives ever prepared us for what was to come. Ashley had become my mother's sworn enemy, living in a dreamscape of deceit and corruption of our mother's disturbed mind. What stability that my baby and I achieved since our father's death was about to be thunderously dismantled.

I suppose if one were to disengage themselves from being in reality to one being an observer, a fly on the wall perspective, the warning signs would have been more apparent. Unfortunately, either we study history in terms of the past or we live in it in the present. There is just no other way. Terms like "in retrospect" or "had I known" or perhaps, "if I had to do it all over again" would never had achieved their popularity if facts were provided, if that secret unknown percentage that occurs behind the veil of the mind would be there for all to read. We caught our mother staring out longingly at the driveway one late evening. She smiled at the two of us and said with apparent honestly, "I am waiting for your father to come home."

A distress came over the both of us, yet my mother smiled, "We can dream can't we?" A queer statement but followed by a sense that she knew where she was and that perhaps, it was a melancholy moment for her, longing for her mate to once again appear in her loving arms. Though alarmed, the night quietly preceded on its own. Outside our room, a single comment that we thought was directed towards us both was uttered in our mother's hushed tone, "Goodnight dear." In retrospect, such a phrase, the singular use of "dear" instead of "dears" should have flagged us but to be honest, we only heard what we wanted, not because we were in any way less concerned or even a bit selfish, but our minds just created the ideal circumstance that allowed us to sleep in peace.

A week or two passed and for all indications, it did look as our mother was finally on-track in the infancy of her healing. A few more snide comments but nothing hideous while all the time seeking Ashley's forgiveness and acceptance. It never entered the shared conversation between us or even that our mother wanted to question the unity that Ashley and I had created. It did not seem to matter to her, for all purposes, it was something that she appeared to accept. We gave some thought to the matter that for some unknown reason that our mother recognized that what we did was an act of survival and therefore it was tolerable to her and not the overarching fact that Ashley and I were deeply committed to each other and in love. We had grown accustomed to not locking our door because there was no bona fide reason to do so. Since the death of our father, our mother has never entered our room or even made any indication or desire to do so. Little did we know, at this one precise occasion, she had reached with her hand to our door, pushed it open just a peak and looked inside.

What she saw, what her mind told her she saw, ushered in a component of evil that devastated my mother in an instant. She saw not what her eyes told her that was real, not what her senses told her was true. Our mother saw a complete fabrication created as a Faustian fantasy being played out that was no more connected to us as her beliefs in her mind were connected to reality. She screamed with such force and blood curdling tenacity that I believed that she would murder us both. Incredible terror rolled through us. Had our mother decided at this very moment to come back into the land of the living, to reach back to us with such force and resentment towards her two children and form the basis of total condemnation towards the very existence of Ashley and I? During the process of becoming lucid had she become so disgusted by our act of lovemaking between two siblings that her first rational thoughts in months were of absolute hatred towards the two who now were in pitch of heated embrace?

"Ashley, you fucking whore, you tramp, you disgusting little pig-slut, how could you be screwing your own father?!" Our mother ran to her room and slammed the door.