My mother was dying. The priest had been called and the last rites had been given.
As a young girl, she had lived through a terrible war which started with big booted soldiers that came stomping through her beautiful happy village. They posted notices in the plazas and bars telling all the men to report at dawn for military service and to bring their own boots.
Some of the men were smart enough to run for the hills. Some thought there was no choice but to comply.
Some men were stupid enough to openly protest and refused to sign up. These men were rounded up in the main square and shot in front of their children. Their families were not allowed to take their bodies away and so they were left to rot in the open sun for weeks.
The blood of one of these men soaked very deeply into a flagstone, it etched the outline of his face, leaving a permanent stain that can be still be seen to this day.
When the soldiers left, taking the menfolk and all the livestock with them. They burned the crops and salted the land, so that other soldiers could not survive there.
The women and children were left to starve. That was the terrible summer of grief when all the babies died as the mothers could not produce enough milk to feed them.
Then the war was over and there was food again. Some men were re-united with their families and some were not.
Life went on. More babies were born. More families were created. Old folk died and children grew up.
There were many good times, there was music and laughter and dreams and hope and some failures and some successes. Times and fashions changed.
This was a woman who had worked very hard all her long life. She had seen so many things, so many different aspects of life, both good and bad. She had raised many children, had many grandchildren, some great-grandchildren and even one or two great-great grandchildren.
She was so very proud of them. Each and every one of them was extremely precious and dear to her heart.
All the family came to see her before she died – except one. One of her grandchildren was in the Sea Org and was not allowed to see her grandmother because one of her children had been declared by the Church of Scientology to be a “suppressive person”.
My mother, who had seen so much of the world, both good and bad, could never have believed or imagined that some unknown church or cult or whatever, could come up with this bizarre declaration of one of her children and deny her that one last visit of her grand-daughter. It was just utterly incomprehensible and left her deeply wounded and hurt before she died.
For as long as I am alive and in contact with my family, my daughter will never be allowed to see or be in contact with myself or her brother or any of her aunts and uncles and cousins and many friends of the family.
These people love her so dearly and miss her terribly.
I wish the people in the Church of Scientology to understand the terrible damage they are doing to innocent people and families who mostly hadn’t even heard of them before this.