Time to Think - The Gruenthal Church

There is always a time, one in a while, where you will always have time to think, sit back and thank about the past. Sometimes, it's a bad thing - sometimes it's a good thing. I've always been one that doesn't want to dwell on the past - rather I want to make sense of it. Tonight was one of those times.

My parents marriage was one of great animosity - one that lasted over a good fifteen years of court battles and thousands and thousands of dollars. In the end, what became two people's distrust and hatred of each other (who at one time loved each other dearly) ended up in the death of their first born and many scars on their children.

My brother was the eldest of the family, born in Warsaw in 1954, I later found out he was conceived 6 months prior to the marriage of my parents. There are also three girls who were born later, making a total of 4 children, each of us being born 6 years apart.

The animosity of my parents divorce occured during the time I was conceived/born. As the youngest, I never actually remembered by father from an early age. I always remember my mother. It was later, when I first met my father the first time after 20 years, at the age of 22 that my sister told me my father thought I wasn't his and believed my mother was having an affair and refused paternity. When I look at myself in the mirror, the thought of this angers me as I, out of the three girls, could not be mistaken for being my fathers daughter. I have his long tongue, short leagues, and his chubby cheeks and, so my mother used to say, that same pouty expression when I was upset. I also know my mother isn't the kind of person who would have an affair. Funny that, he also said that she wanted me aborted. It's at that time it hit me - so many lies were hitting me in the face at 22 - expecting me to believe them.

My mother could be derogatory about my father, but only in an angry way - she was never malicious. She would call him a bastard in Polish and all the other names under the sun in Polish (so I would never understand them as young ladies never swore) but she was never malicious. With her, there were always true facts.

She dwelt on the past. Everywhere we went, boxes upon boxes of affidavits, papers and cititation outlining the bitter courtcases followed. Rather than reading the sunday papers on a Sunday or a fairytale book in bed, I was read affidavit upon affidavit. In a way, I was the only person my mother could talk to. I was her therapist.

I remember in 1984 coming home from school one winter when we were living on the farm in Furdale on the outskirts of Saskatoon. There was the long long lane which lead from a dirt road to the main gate of the farm -it was snowing quite hard. Coming down half way, a car was approaching me in the opposite direction. A young woman jumped out and screamed Laura, scared, I started to run in the opposite direction. The young woman was my eldest sister Vicky. She had told me that Jerry had died and that she came to tell Mom and she had collapsed in the bathroom and they had to call an ambulance. She was now concious. My mother was never the same again. She lost something after that.

I remember when I caught her crying a few weeks later and I ran up to her and tried to cheer her up by saying,' Don't cry Mummy - you still have me.' and she got angry and yelled at me and went into the other room. As a child, I didn't understand her grief. I guess no one can - no one can understand how a mother feels when her child dies before she does.

I never remember knowing my brother - in fact I don't remember him at all. During the acrimony he left his first year Uni studies in Veterinary Medicine and got involved with a sect known as the Gruenthal Church. He later built himself a log cabin in the forest in the Peace River Region of Alberta where he trapped fur. He got so engrossed by God that my mother tried to so hard to get him out of it. My father, on the otherhand was the one who encouraged him. He had told my mother he was living there to find God. He later died trying to find him.

It was the Gruenthal religion that also f*cked up my eldest sister Vicki. At the age of 17 she was quoting from the bible. At the age of 19 she married some monster from the same religion that treated her like a shit. At the age of 21 she saw sense and got herself out. I remember my mother following her one time, to the church in Cloverdale where she would go each night. There were Amens and Halleughahs flying left right and centre. A Roman Catholic Church had a sense of peace to it. This place had a sense of hostility. It was like a set of a horror film.

My mother followed her back to her basement flat where she was taking care of an old lady and begged and pleaded her to go to University, to leave the religion and make something of her life. And then a huge argument erupted. My sister started quoting from the bible and my mother got angry and harsh words were exchanged between each other. My mother stormed off with me in tow with my sister harassing her and shouting at her that she would go to hell as the bible said ' bla bla bla bla bla'.

By the age of 10, I not only did I know how to write an affidavit, I knew how to type one. I guess that's why I like Arthur Erickson so much as an architect. He was a Canadian architect who designed the Supreme Courts of British Columbia - what I would call 'home' when I was younger - we practicaly lived in those buildings.

I remember my mother saying to me before I was going off to Uni, that maybe she made a mistake, maybe I should have had contact with my father, maybe perhaps, that could pose an obstacle to how I went through life in the future. At that time, I thought maybe she was right. But, after meeting him and experiencing first hand the manipulation, how wrong she was.

So you may be asking me now why I'm writing this. Well, I had a moment to think tonight, and when I have a moment to think, I tend to think about the past. I looked up the Gruental Church and there really is not much about it on the web. However, there is plenty about the church in respect to one situation, where a young man who was a member of the church was diagnosed with bone cancer. His parents refused treatment as this was against the religion,insisting God would save him. The boy died. This is a religion who insists that all female members where skirts below the knee - no trousers are permitted. This is a reliogn that insists all female members get married at a young age and are not allowed the chance to educate themselves to male standards.

So this angers me. Why my father, an intelligent man, with a PhD in International Law, would not only introduce his children but encourage them to take part in such a religion. The more I think about it the more I become aware of how he would do whatever it took to hurt my mother, and what better way then by not only turning her children against her but also parading their dramatic demise infront of her. And no matter how hard she fought and how hard she tried, she was unable to stop it. There are no words to describe a person who is not only capable of doing this but is also aware of what he is doing.

Shower Gel

Ok - I am perplexed here - not being difficult or bitchy or natty - just perplexed. Here is a female in need of a male perspective point of view.

When a guy leaves his shower gel at your place - well - the first time he did it - I just left it. I have not used it but thought since there wasn't that much left - it might as well stay there so he could use it for the next time.

So a month passes and well I left my shower gel at his place. It got packed up and shifted back to mine twice.

So this time, another shower gel bottle has been left in my shower. Do I (a) leave it or (b) ship if off back to his?

I'm perplexed. Fuckin hell - it's only shower gel but it's making me head hurt!