Page 80 of Silent Count
“Oh, Chels. I’m sorry, sweetie. But if I may, I’d like to say a few things.” My aunt sits up in the chair and leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “I think you’re making a mistake.”
“Yeah, I mean, I kinda already feel bad about it, but thanks.”
“No, I mean, I think you’re making a mistake about not letting him in, Chelsea.” She picks up her water and takes a sip, then sets it back down.
“You know, your dad and I didn’t have the best childhood. Now, he was a lot older than me, so I don’t really remember what it was like for him, and honestly, I think I got the better end of the stick because my parents weren’t in good health by the time I was old enough to understand that they were alcoholics.
“Now, your dad, he chose a path similar to our parents. Became victimized by it actually. Probably because that’s what was familiar to him, but also, some people are just predisposed to being addicts, whether it’s alcohol or another substance.
“And then when our mom died when I was fourteen, your dad stopped coming around completely because he and your grandpa didn’t get along at all.” She drops her head and shakes it.
“My dad, like yours, wasn’t a nice man. So, I was quiet, did what I was supposed to, and stayed away from home as much as possible. And then my junior year of high school, my math teacher told me I was smart.” She looks at us and smiles. “No one had ever said anything like that to me before.”
“No one? Not even other teachers?” Torie asks her.
“Nope. I was quiet and kept to myself. I did my assignments on time and did well in school, but no one ever noticed me, I guess. Either way, that’s not the point of my story. My point is, I didn’t let my circumstances define me, and I don’t want you to let yours or your past determine yours. By watching my friends’ families and—it sounds silly—TV shows, I recognized that I wanted more out of my life than what I was living. And allI needed was that one little nudge from a teacher to give me the confidence to do it. Now, I hope in the time you girls have been with me, I have shown you that, but maybe I haven’t done a good job of it.” Her voice cracks.
We both move over to her and hug her.
“No, you’ve been our biggest cheerleader, and I know how lucky we are that the social worker found you. And that you gave us and do give us so much love and support.” I tell her.
“I hope so.” She wipes her eyes, smiling faintly. “I just don’t ever want to see either of you to see yourself as victim. You’re fighters.”
I gnaw on my lip and look to the side.Fighter.Drama.Doesn’t she see it’s all so connected? There’s a name for it in psychology—the way we become our parents without even realizing it. They call it intergenerational transmission or sometimes intergenerational trauma when what gets passed down is the pain.
It’s not just the drinking or the tempers; it’s the craving for chaos. The kind of love that burns instead of warms. Addictive personalities feed on passion and fear and the high of being wanted one minute and worthless the next. It’s in our blood.
And based on how hard and fast I fell for Bo, I have no doubt I could end up just like them.
I glance back at her. “In your medical training, did you ever learn about intergenerational trauma? How we repeat our parents’ patterns over and over—what’s it called, repetition compulsion?”
Her brow furrows as she studies me. “Is that what all that adoption talk was about a few weeks ago? You think your dad’s behavior is something that’s been passed down to you?”
I let out a shaky breath. “You said your childhood was fucked too. It’s clearly generational.”
She reaches out, resting a hand over mine. “Generational trauma stops with us.” Her voice softens, steady but sure.
Tears start to fall down my cheeks. “You sound so positive. And, well, fine … we aren’t our pasts, but the past is still ours, and there’s no hiding it once people know. I don’t trust anyone not to exploit our secrets.”
“Oh, kiddo, that is my one regret. I think I should have given you girls an example of what a healthy relationship looks like. I was so focused on you both that I never took the time for myself to find love, which, in turn, you also missed out on. I mean, I’m not an expert on relationships, especially since I haven’t had more than hookups in the last twelve years, but”—she pauses—“you both need love. Healthy love. But you have to be willing to give in return too.”
“I know that, and it’s not that I don’t want to give everything to Bo because I do. I think I’m just scared. I know we’re not my parents, but I also feel like I could get completely lost in him.” I shrug.
“Let me ask you something though. Why would that be so bad? He sounds like a good guy, he’s definitely handsome, he comes from a good family—oh, and he’s going to be a professional football player. I don’t see what the problem is.” She puts her hand on my shoulder.
“I mean, when you put it like that, I’ll step in and take over from here, Chelsea,” my sister teases.
“Not a chance, little sister.” I playfully push her. “Aren’t you worried about any of this stuff, Torie? Do you ever worry about someone finding out what Dad did or where he is or how Mom died?”
She shakes her head. “No, I really don’t. It’s probably because I don’t remember as much as you do. And my memories of that night are fuzzy. I’m sorry that you do remember more and that you lived it. I hate to say it, but like Aunt Laura, I got the betterend of the stick because most of my memories are us with her and not Mom and Dad. But, Chels, if he knows all of that and still wants to be with you, support you, I think you should let him. I think he would protect you too.”
“I agree with Torie. I think you need to trust him and let him love you and take care of you. But you also need to be able to do the same for him.” Aunt Laura sucks in a deep breath. “You’re going to hate that I’m saying this, but I really think you need to read that letter from your dad. I think it might help you in this situation with Bo.”
“Torie, did you get a letter too?” I turn and look at her.
“No, I never got letters like you did, thankfully.” She shrugs.
“You girls know I would write to him once a year, right?” My aunt takes our hands in hers. “I would tell him about your accomplishments and how beautiful you both were, how happy you were. At first, I felt like I needed to do it because I thought he would care and want to know all of those things were true. But then, one time, he asked me for money for a new lawyer to try to get his sentence reduced, and I wouldn’t give it to him because I honestly believe he’s where he should be.” She looks at us both. “He stopped writing me back after that, but I kept writing and giving him yearly updates. Because you girls haven’t let what he did define you. You’re out there, making your dreams come true, Chelsea. Wouldn’t it be great to have someone by your side, cheering you on? Don’t give him or the memory of your parents any power over your future. Not giving Bo everything in return is them winning in a way. Do you know what I mean?”
