Humanity

Gabrielle walked the length and back of her living room as she had been doing for months since her vertebrae at L5 moved back into place. She created a physical therapy schedule to help heal herself from the damage the misalignment caused her body, a bulging disc, which she endured for two years. Professional physical therapy would require help at home, which was unaffordable. A friend or family member was not available to help her. She moved out of her home state, outgrew friendships she thought would last her entire life, and then COVID shut down most of the world, making life more isolating. The physical injury showed her who cared to help her and who falsely claimed to always be there for her. Despite what others have shown her, Gabrielle was determined not to give up on herself.

She walked around the couch slowly due to inflamed muscles that ached intensely with every step. Gabrielle turned the television to the local news station to escape mentally from the pain. The news reported another mass shooting in the country, a school in another state. Her stomach instantly grew a great knot that put pressure in the pit of her stomach. Gabrielle's eyes overflowed with tears, her body wanting to collapse from fear, confusion, anger, exhaustion, and feeling unsafe in 'the greatest country in the world.'

How am I supposed to run with this injury, she asked herself. Months went by before she could get in her car due to the extreme, debilitating pain from nerve and muscle damage. She just started to drive herself on short trips for only the necessities she needed. How could she protect herself if something happened; she wondered with increasing anxiety.

The cell rang, and Gabrielle picked up with conflicting feelings of regret and needing someone to lean on.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi.” Cue dramatic silence. “How are you?” her mother asked with an exaggerated, breathy tone of concern. “You haven’t called in four days,” her mother continued.

“It has been three days, and you could have called,” stated Gabrielle for the jillionth time to her mother’s disapproval of the lapse of time between phone calls.

“I just worry about you. You should check in with me and Dad to let us know how you are doing. We worry about you when we don’t hear from you.”

This circular conversation is to shame Gabrielle; and, in turn, quench her mother’s fragile ego. Her mother is quite capable of calling if she is concerned. The remark was a tally. Yes, a tally. Her mother keeps a running log of phone calls her two daughters make to her first. Gabrielle’s mother once told her that she kept track of the phone calls made by her and her sister on the Nebraska Nature Calendar, a calendar her mother received for free every year. Gabrielle changed the subject.

"I can’t believe there is another mass shooting," Gabrielle's voice wavering in disbelief. "This is getting out of hand. We need more strict gun laws."

“They will take our guns away,” countered her mother.

“No, they won't take our guns away." Gabrielle is getting frustrated with being habitually countered by her mother but continues, "They want to keep the wrong type of gun from getting into the wrong hands. I’m not opposed to owning-”

“It’s unfair that civilians can't own a gun if they can't afford training!"

“You told me growing up that if I can’t afford it, I can’t buy it, but the same thought isn’t true for civilians who want to own a gun?” asked Gabrielle.

Gabrielle’s mother stated in a frustrated tone, “It won’t do any good because criminals will always be able to get guns!”

“Why make it easier for them?” asked Gabrielle, wondering why her mother had yet to express concern about the mass shootings happening in the country.

“Well, you need to stop going to Democratic areas because that is where the shootings are happening!”

What? Again, Gabrielle was confused about her mother's political information. Her mother only watched one news station. Gabrielle would research current political events and sometimes find untrue statements even by the party she leans more towards. After a debate with her mother, Gabrielle would study to get the facts. Many of her mother’s political statements had missing or untrue information, and Gabrielle learned to fact-check what her mother adamantly believed. Gabrielle wanted to find answers to situations that were getting terrifying. She didn’t want to fear stepping outside her home. She didn’t want to avoid certain areas where she lived. She didn’t want to hear about more lives lost. This way of living was not freedom. She would state her research findings to her mother, but it would end up with her mother asserting, “I don’t believe that,” to a variety of sources Gabrielle quoted. It was never a conversation about getting to the truth of the matter.

Gabrielle struggled to grasp that her mother didn't take her concerns seriously. At times Gabrielle would listen to her mother in silence, too numb to contribute her thoughts during a phone call. The end would arrive without her mother asking Gabrielle's opinion on the topic her mother spoke about. Gabrielle knows she needs to stop engaging with her mother, but superficial talk of the weather and brief statements of well-being eventually fade.

The wish to be acknowledged slowly grows to the surface, and she falls back into a need to express herself. The cycle leaves Gabrielle feeling unvalued by her mother.

Gabrielle realized her mother spiraled their current discussion away from a specific aspect of events, a pattern her mother has when Gabrielle tries to get a question answered. Gabrielle attempted to bring the conversation back to the beginning statements.

“I think I told you this before why I believe people need training to own a gun. Remember Tara?”

“Yes, you worked with her,” her mother sternly stated, annoyed that the conversation was resuming.

“I went to her house once to pick her up for dinner. We were in the living room talking to her husband. I had just stood up from the couch to leave with Tara. I was standing near the end of the coffee table, between the table and the couch. Tara was standing on the opposite side of the coffee table in front of me. So, we had about 1-2 feet between us. She asked her husband if she could show me his new purchase. She picked up the box on the table, pulled out an automatic handgun, and pointed it at my chest.”

Silence on the other end of the line. Gabrielle continued. “I froze, stunned that she would do that because she has experience shooting. She laughed when she pointed it at me, and her husband said, “Uh, the gun is loaded.” She said, "Oops,” and put it down. That is when I stopped talking about going to a gun range with her and Lisa. It scared the shit out of me, and I was shocked she did that to me. Tara has more hands-on experience with guns than I do. That gun could have gone off. It was at point-blank range aimed at my chest. I could have died. I just left with her to go to dinner and didn’t say a word about it.”

Gabrielle waited for her mother to respond, hoping words of empathy and thankfulness that the gun didn’t go off would follow.

“Well, you learned your lesson years before on that one.”

What? Gabrielle knew what her mother was referring to but couldn’t believe how cold-hearted she was at this moment.

“What are you talking about?” asking for clarification.

“You pointed your Grandfather’s Civil War rifle at your sister and learned you never point unless you intend to use it!”

Gabrielle could feel her mother’s proud reminder of a teachable moment, or was it the thrill of being able to pour salt on a traumatic wound? Gabrielle’s blood started to boil, and with a controlled, firm tone said, “First of all, I was a child. What was I, 10 or 12 years old?”

“Yes, I believe you were around that age,” interjected her mother.

“Granddad handed me the gun. We were standing, facing you, Grandmom, and Dad. Aris was sitting on your lap. I was looking at the rifle, and it clicked. I didn’t-"

“Yes, it went off,” argued her mother, “and thank God it wasn’t loaded!”

"I didn’t point it at Aris! Four adults were in the room with extensive gun experience, and not one of you taught me how to properly hold the rifle before handing it to me. I don’t even remember having my hand on the trigger. I was holding it, looking at it, and then heard a click. I looked up and saw you and Aris were in line with the barrel. You looked horrified as you yelled my name in shock and then yelled, “You could have shot Aris!” Gabrielle felt desperate and confused while trying to plead her case. "Yes," she continued, "I learned quickly not to point a gun at someone, loaded or not, but I never aimed it at Aris on purpose.”

“Well, in our family, we learned how to correctly operate firearms,” stated her mother matter-of-factly.

Gabrielle felt depleted. How did trying to make a point about gun safety with a traumatic experience end up with a made-up accusation and blame? How does an adult not take any responsibility for an incident, good outcome or not?

Her mother abruptly closed the conversation with all the stacked-up, important mail she had to go through and how she hadn’t had lunch yet, and dinner time was fast approaching.

“Okay, have a good night. Love you,” Gabrielle routinely stated.

“Love you too,” said her mother.

Gabrielle’s eyes welled up from the isolated pain as she put her cell down. Her mind lingered on the incident at Tara’s home years ago and wondered why she didn’t set a boundary with Tara back then. It had been a few years since Gabrielle had spoken with Tara due to Tara engaging in shady behavior with other people.

She was thankful she froze that day when Tara raised the gun to her. Gabrielle thought the stone-like silence probably saved her life. If she abruptly reacted, Tara could have pulled the trigger accidentally from being startled. Gabrielle wondered why she never spoke to Tara about that incident. They went to dinner and had a girls’ night as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.

Gabrielle’s thoughts now turned to her mother, and her chest was heavy with grief. Again, another conversation with her mother left her feeling insignificant, and, this time, wrongly accused of an incident with her sister, Aris, she felt remorse for. Her parents and grandparents grew up on farms, and her father had military experience. They all knew how to handle firearms. She was upset looking back, wondering why, as a child, the mistake was a burden they allowed her to carry.

She never discussed the Civil War rifle incident with her sister but always wondered what Aris remembered; the danger of a rifle pointed at her or her mother yelling that Gabrielle could have shot her.

Gabrielle realized that her silence to Tara that day was probably from her family dynamics. She told her mother a second time about Tara carelessly pointing a gun at her, and it brought no empathy or vocalized relief that her daughter was okay.

Gabrielle continued to walk around the living room, determined to heal herself. At least I have my own back, she thought.

It became transparent that her mother couldn’t care for the well-being of others if she couldn’t even react to her daughter’s trauma. Gabrielle was more determined than ever to do her part to make life more safe for everyone.

*Sometimes the most dangerous thing for kids is the silence that allows them to construct their own stories, stories that almost always cast them as alone and unworthy of love and belonging.* -Brene Brown