September/October 2008 Editor's Viewpoint
Going Home Again

My uncle passed away this summer after a long battle with cancer. I hadn't been back to Colorado for 15 years, where I was born and raised by a small village - my widowed mother, my grandmother, my devoutly Catholic uncle and aunt, and an amazingly rowdy and instructive gang of cousins.

They say you can't go home again, and I had followed that motto studiously for years after we moved to California when I was 12. Truth is, I was afraid to go back. Despite being part of a large Catholic family that appeared to outsiders as a loving clan, we had many dark secrets in our family. My grandfather had sexually abused some of the children in the family (a sad fact later confirmed by my grandmother).

When the abuse was first openly exposed to the family, I was just 17 years old. My grandfather had died when I was seven, and the painful experiences with him were buried in my unconscious memories. At my mother's prompting, I looked within and found the truth.

When my uncle died in July, my mother was there by his bedside. She asked me to come to the funeral. This was a choice point for me: it was time to go home and confront my fears. Surprisingly, I had stayed away for so long that my reasons for not going had faded away. The truth of what happened in my childhood is no longer an issue, but a fact that I've learned to accept and grow from as an adult.

I consciously decided to go home and be just who I am: a simple human being. And in being just me, I wanted to see my family for who they are: simple human beings. I wanted to let go of the past, which I have spent many productive years healing. If I am able to accept what happened and move into healing, then I felt that it was time to just be myself and accept my family as the people they have grown to be today.

I met some amazing people that week. I saw warm people doing their best for others. I reconnected with my aunt, who was a loving person then and now. Cousins who I adored were now strong fathers and a new mother. I met distant relatives who work the land as farmers and can cuss up an amusing blue streak. I ate with my 101-year-old great aunt who called me by my mother's name. We shared meals for 18, and laughed together. We were touched by the miracle of a double rainbow after a glorious Colorado thunderstorm - my uncle's message from beyond that as life continues to unfold, God is always with us.

I meditated at night in Colorado, a place that I once associated with grief, and released many feelings of guilt: family-obligation guilt, unresolved guilt, personal guilt and Catholic guilt.

I cried as I realized that all I've ever needed was my own acceptance of my life's journey.

You can go home again.
- Vicky Thompson

Heart of the Issue
Accepting yourself is the first step to healing.