Last month, I wrote about the "gaping holes" in the Christmas season, no longer being able to listen to Lessons and Carols services or, for that matter, most carols. My inner feminist has simply gone too far over a few lines, I guess.
When you are out exploring the post-Christian, post-capitalist, post-duality wilderness, there simply are a lot of gaping holes. I haven't written too much about the one closest to my heart, but perhaps today is the day to do that. And that is, the gaping hole that is left when you are a single woman with no children, and you have little-to-no contact with your biological family.
Forty years ago, when I was living in New York City and started therapy, I dearly wanted to talk honestly with family members. It quickly became clear that my parents were not going to go along (indeed, I was effectively banished from their house for bringing the subject up!) but I hoped my brothers would at least occasionally want to sit down over coffee or a beer or whatever, just to chat, laugh, compare notes. Kind of, "What a crazy family we have! Let's tell stories!" But that idea, too, was shot down. Until a few years ago, I regularly tried to update the suggestion, but each time, I was further isolated, pushed back. I mean, I'm wise enough to understand that the underlying issue was fear, fear of acknowledging certain truths or having anything to do with the person who is honest, but still, it hurt like crazy and it still does.
When my dad died a few years ago, I wrote to all the members of my immediate family, old-fashioned, hand-written notes of condolence. (There are only nine of us, including me, so this was doable.) I knew I had to be impeccably honest, and not spout platitudes, so I tried hard to find the best way to acknowledge how huge this transition was for all of us, and, if possible, one or two positive memories unique to the person. I apologized that I had somewhat distanced myself from family...that I had to do this for me, but how eagerly I would welcome some future honest communication with other family members. To get in touch any time, kind of thing.
Well, the only member of my family to send me a condolence note was a cousin a little further out of the circle. I didn't receive a response (in any form, notes, emails, texts, calls) to any of my eight handwritten notes. I don't say this out of "poor me!" or bitterness, but just out of deep pain. My dad was my dad, for all of it, and not to have that loss acknowledged in any way by closest family was heartbreaking. I live for the day that one of my five nieces comes to me and says, "Gee, Aunt Liz, talk to me about our family and your experience of it. I care, I want to know your perspective." Until then, I just cannot do superficial relationships that dance around the proverbial elephant in the room.
In a way, this parallels my experience of the world in general. I so rarely find individuals (and still never have found an institution) whose truths align with mine. I keep hoping...and I keep writing. I am trying to remind myself that nature abhors a vacuum, and these gaping holes in my life must already be filled with a greater, more real, form of love, even if I'm only just becoming aware of it. It's like a mist, but it is there.
