Will you be the generation that will break the chain of family dysfunction?
Or will you continue to carry the burden of "family secrets" that gets heavier and heavier with each passing generation?
Here's a short tale that I hope will put each of these questions into perspective?
It won't be easy. But then carrying those heavy baskets of family secrets are no breeze either!
I see my mother as the noon sun erases all shade. She is sweating and heavy with child, burdened with a huge basket of junk that she carries ahead of a line of people older than her. Some are bent over, graying. Some are mere skeletons.
My mother trudges up the hill toward me. I don't know what to do. I am frozen in place and reach out for her.
Just as she shifts the heavy basket to me, she begins to melt to the ground. It's as though the heavy basket has pounded her into the ground. In a moment she is gone without even a smile or a thank you for taking her load from her.
I stare behind her. The older, zombie-like characters bid me on with the load. I turn to continue the trek up the hill toward a marvelous wide and full and welcoming maple tree.
I look at the tree. I look in the basket. It stinks with decaying works, words, actions, resentments, bitterness, addiction and neglect. But I feel obligated to carry it up the hill as generations of my ancestors carried the load in their time.
If I could only remove some of this junk from the basket, I could get to the shade of the tree sooner. But I look behind me. I see those people shaking their heads, urging me on with the full basket, warning me to not drop anything.
I remember to earlier times when my mother was many times heavy with child. How I wanted to climb on her lap, to have her hug me, tickle me, tell me she loved me as she cradled me in her arms!
But she always had the basket in her hands. He arms were not for me, but for carrying that basket of burdens accumulated from generations of mothers and fathers before her.
So I turn and carry my burden. I become angry, bitter and resent the load. I also resent those who are pressuring me to carry their old burden. Why? I wonder.
Meanwhile the tree beckons. With every step I get just a little closer until by early evening I become within a few feet of the cool shade.
I look back at the people behind me. They are still following me, scrawling and reminding me of obligations, loyalty, bloodlines, responsibilities to our "family secrets."
At last I feel I can call it a night. I plop down beneath the tree.
And the tree talks to me.
"I welcome you after your heavy journey. I am sturdy of trunk with supportive branches. My leaves bring me beauty in the summer and shade to those carrying heavy loads.
"But I also know to shed my leaves in the fall. Some cling and want to stay attached to my limbs. The Breath of the Spirit eventually convinces them to let go, and they float down to the ground to bring warmth to little seeds that will sprout after a cold winter ahead.
"This is nature. It is sometimes painful. But we in nature know that there is a rhythm to life, and we cooperate. The Creator keeps her promise though every year by giving me new leaves, new shade and another ring around my trunk.
"But look at you. You continue to carry a burden that should have been dumped long ago. Why do you continue with these dysfunctions? Leave your basket here in the morning. There is nothing in it that will help you grow into the person your Creator wants you to be. Leave it here, and I will transform it. I will let my bugs and worms wallow through it. By this time next year, it too will bring warmth for my roots and for new life in the years ago."
I was amazed at the wisdom found in the old tree. I looked beyond over at my ancestors. They were now floating away into the setting sun. It was as though I now had permission to let go of my burdens that had been passed on to them, and them to me, generation after generation.
Now I could have my arms free to love, to nurture, to nestle my children in my arms, along with their grandchildren.
As I closed my eyes, I imagined that I was at last in my mother's arms. She was laughing with me. She was free of burdens. She had time and a basket of love for me. She put me in her basket, swung me around and around, and we were happy and secure at last.