“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

I guess I thought that I’d keep up some level of communication if I talked as I am now, and Robbie took the words down. Come to think of it, I did feel fairly hopeful this morning for brief snatches. I was going to record some memories that suddenly came to me yesterday morning. Of the last few months or so I spent at my mother’s house—when she called me time after time during those spring and summer months of 1950: she wanted her pillows turned, she cried out in rage and pain—and here I was some 30 years later, calling out to Rob (voice breaking) to move my pillows or raise my head.

But I thought, “My God, I should be able to forgive my mother anything, being in that state, with a child beside.” No wonder she raged and screamed and struck out—yet I certainly, as far as I know, don’t hold myself to blame, since I understood as well as I could. And helped in whatever ways I could. But surely my attitude as well as hers must have helped build a wall between us.

(11:28.) I had told her a few days before the suicide attempt that I was leaving. I’m not sure, but I think I told her. We had a salesman who used the place as a business address, and he was there that night. I don’t remember much about him, except that he wouldn’t help. He got in his car as fast as he could and drove away, leaving mother raging on the bedside.