Thoughts, Theories & observations
of a Grown Ass Woman
Thirty years is a long time to be silent. It is a long time not to talk to someone who was once a constant companion, best friend and little sister. One day, when I was in my early 20s, my brother just stopped talking to me and, to this day, I don’t know why. C stopped talking to my dad at the same time, and my dad didn’t know why he was getting the silent treatment either. It is a cruel way to slip out of someone’s life. C ghosted us long before ghosting was a thing. He just disappeared from our lives. My dad and I lived without C for a little over 30 years, and except for the last two visits before he died, my dad always, without fail, asked if I had heard from my brother. I always told him, “no,” even when I contacted my brother in 2019 to let him know my dad was in a nursing home. I’d give my brother periodic updates as my dad’s health changed, but he never once reached out to me or to Dad. C never once asked about my him, where he was, or how he could reach him. Now it’s too late. My brother called me about two years ago to tell me he was selling the house we grew up in to pay for my mom’s nursing care. She had dementia and was moving to a memory care facility. Since then, he contacted me a few times a year to provide updates. During those calls, he didn’t ask how my dad was doing, or how I was, for that matter. I had been shut out of my mom’s and brother’s lives for so long, I can take the hurt and disappointment. It is status quo for me. But my dad didn’t have a lot of time left, and seeing my brother or getting a phone call or letter from him would have meant the world. C waited too long. When my dad passed away after Christmas, I debated calling C to tell him the news. I knew I had to tell him, and texting was too impersonal. I decided to call and got his voice mail and left a message for C. He called me back 30 minutes later and I explained what had happened. He said, “Mom’s not far behind him.” He told me that my mom could barely speak, and he didn’t expect her to live much longer. Eleven days later, C called to tell me my mom had passed. He was with her right til the end, holding her hand so she wouldn’t be alone. He told me then that he wanted to be involved if I was having a service for my dad. I had originally not planned to do so, because my daughter and I are the only surviving family. I assumed C would not care to come. My stepmom is also in poor health and receiving hospice care so my stepsister S and I decided we would have a joint service for them both. They wanted to be buried together, so we want to honor their wishes. When my dad passed, they had been married 38 years. After my mom died, my brother and I texted for hours that first week, and it was surreal. I asked if it was OK to text/email. He said “the past is in the past.” A cryptic reply. And yet I still don’t know what I did or failed to do to earn 30 years of silence, or was he simply following my mom’s playbook? Was he following her lead or her instructions? When she felt she had been snubbed or wronged in some way, she would cut that person out of her life forever. No exceptions and no redemption. She did it with her own mother and sister, and now my brother had done it to me. Seven years after my brother quit speaking to me, my mom quit speaking to me too. I still don’t know why, and now I will never. More unfinished business. For my own health and peace of mind, I forgave my mother several years ago, but forgiveness isn’t a switch I flipped overnight. It was a conscious decision followed by a process of letting go, of not letting pain and anger eat at me anymore, and of recognizing that I don’t know the whole story – or any of the story, in this case. Fast forward to the recent communication with my brother, and he told me my mom asked about me more often in the months leading up to her death. I had been home twice last fall – I debated about seeing her but didn’t want to upset her. If I had known she was talking about me, maybe even asking for me, I might have made a different choice. It was much too late to rehash the past, but I could have told her I loved her. Cards, letters and flowers over the last few years did not adequately convey my love for her. I never understood her, never felt loved or wanted, but I loved her just the same. She was my mom, and she had her own inner demons to fight. I had gotten to the point where I didn’t take her treatment of me or my silence personally anymore. It was more about her than about me. My brother’s silence, on the other hand, I do take personally. We were so close as kids – playing wiffle ball together, playing board games and tag, and playing with our dog Frisky. One day that closeness ended. I am really grappling with that right now. I’m profoundly sad we lost so many years together, I am angry he didn’t tell me my mom was asking about me, and I am very disappointed that he never reconciled with my dad. I feel that he made decisions for us that weren’t his to make. His desire to be a part of my dad’s service is particularly upsetting. For my dad’s sake, I will honor that and include him. But why now? Why not 20 years ago, 10 years ago, or last fall when his presence would have warmed my dad’s heart? C has no idea – and maybe doesn’t care – how much my dad loved him. He will never have that chance now. After 30 years of silence, I want to forgive C, but I’m not ready. I can take the pain; I’ve endured it this long. But can I forgive him for the hurt he caused my dad when my dad did nothing wrong? Is it my place to hold onto that pain for my dad, or is it OK to let it go? I feel the need to defend my dad because I knew him as well as he would allow me to. C never tried to know him and now he never will. I’ve wrestled with this for two months, and yesterday I saw a video interview with Pink that gave me some clarity and some hope that forgiveness may be possible. “Love is a lifetime of just coming back to the table, that nothing is irretrievable or unredeemable.” ~ PINK I hope that’s true. Thirty years is much too long to hurt. Copyright © 2023 by Dana E. Neuts. All Rights Reserved. No portion of this content may be used without permission from the author.
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by Dana NeutsDana has been writing since she was 8 years old. She is now a grown ass woman with many musings to share. ArchivesCategories |