I stayed up all last night working on my memories. I made an outline and I started to write down all my recollections of what I saw, learned, felt, all my thoughts, especially when something seemed fishy. It's all private; no one's going to read it, so I'm being completely honest and not worrying for the first time that someone is going to read it and think I'm nuts. I still have to find a place to keep it safe from prying eyes, but for the most part, all the deeply personal tragic interesting stuff will be bashed out in my private journals, but my ultimate conclusions and a rundown of how I came to this summation will be entered here, if deemed noteworthy.
For instance, when I was a girl, I had this cat named Katy (pronounced cat-e). I loved her, she was pretty and white, with blue eyes. I was about 5 when my Dad's secretary, Margarita gave me the kitten. My paternal Grandmother was staying with us, and she watched over me, because my mother did not treat me the same as my sister. I was bullied by both of them, and anyways, back to the story.... I'm glad my Grandma was there, but my Mom and her fought like Cat's and Dogs! After we had my cat for a few months, she grew thin and sickly and one day my mother broke it to me that my cat was dead. I was upset, but my mother told me that it was better for Katy because she was so sick. Well my Grandma went to my Dad with what she knew.... and it came out my mother hated the cat, didn't think I deserved a pet and so she poisoned her because she couldn't be bothered.
Shortly after that fight, my Mother got her way and Grandma was sent packing back to England and my mother never had a kind word to say about her to anyone ever again, even those who knew her. I would often get older ladies petting me on the head and saying things like your Grandma sends her love. North Vancouver, at the time was predominately British Emigrants, and my Gran was popular, whereas, my mother was not. There were few invitations to lunches and social occasions. My mother blamed this the fact that she was German and no one wanted a "Nazi" in their home so soon after the war.
The reason this all matters is my mother denied my Grandma having lived with us and that my cat was poisoned, not sick. She denied a lot of things actually, but this one was so big. My father was embarrassed by what had happened to his mother, by his own wife, and being a stiff upper lip type of Englishman, he kept the secret out of a sense of privacy, so the neighbours wouldn't know. He neither confirmed or denied, he avoided talking about it. Oh yes and my mother told us that if we did speak to him about it there would be hell to pay (I could never figure out why there would be hell to pay with my father, but I was cautious around my mother even as a child). This is an important part of my history and I had so many memories stolen by this cover-up. This little scenario was also used as a mean of showing just how big a liar I was. My mother called it running to my father with my little faerie stories! Anyways, that's a little glimpse into my life, and with this new found knowledge I will be recording, I hope to gain a deeper understanding of .myself.