Family matters
I heard back from my sister-in-law today regarding my e-mail titled "Benign." She commented on the end that I could now get back to my life, but it might never look the same again. I responded to her, somewhat cryptically, a bit dramatically, and entirely honestly that my life hadn’t looked the same for a long time now.
It bothers me that my family does not, and never will, understand the depth of my loss of A. I know that’s my fault; I could’ve been open, and honest, and up front about it, and I was too afraid to do so. Afraid, and maybe stubborn, too; I don’t discuss things about myself with people who I know are going to disapprove. Why go there? If I don’t want to deal with your censure, I don’t let you in to those parts of my life.
But they are less aware of how I’ve changed than just about anyone else in my life. I live far away, so they didn’t really have a sense of the before- and after-death me, or rather, they only know the before, and can only assume that that’s who I am still, having no conception of why I might not be.
I often feel like a coward for not telling them that A was my love and my lover. And then I doubt myself and think telling them would have been merely self-serving, because the only reason I’d tell them is so that I could feel more understood, that maybe I could’ve had their support and sympathy. And it makes it hard, I guess, to explain where I’m coming from when I share some perspectives that I only have because my beloved died, when I have not yet explained that my beloved died.
As frustrated as I became in the aftermath because A never told his family about me, I could never blame him, because I was the same way with mine. And that was not surprising; we both handled things our way, and felt no need to justify ourselves to others in anything in our lives. We kept/keep our own counsel, and did/do as we see fit. And for the most part, that still works for me.
But there are moments, sometimes, when good people who love me say something like my sister-in-law did, completely unknowingly, that make me think, "Lady, you have no idea…" I can’t blame her, either. It’s just another reminder of what a damn mess this was. Not that anyone has a neat, tidy, uncomplicated epilogue to their death, but I guess by now, the rawness of the mess has gone away, and I don’t really focus on the time right after he died anymore. I think about the man much more than I think about the man’s death, because the man I loved and adored, and the death I hate. So I don’t think about it, and sometimes sort of forget about it, until those moments arrive, and I am reminded…reminded of what silence has cost me, and what it will continue to cost me as the years pass. I wish the world had been ready for us, so we could’ve done things differently. I wish we had been ready for the world, so we could’ve done things differently.
I totally understand the would-haves, could-haves, should haves. Grief sucks, and I get it.
I’ve always found it so odd how it’s those we are closest to (family-wise) that we feel the need to protect our secret hearts from the most. We can tell the whole truth of it in blogging anonymity so freely and yet feel so vulnerable with those who (should) love us the most. I can relate completely to the position you are in.
Oh, and I’m so pleased at the verdict of benign!
I think it’s because those are the people whose rejection would most wound us. If someone reading my blog tells me off, I can blow that off. If my family disowns me, that’s harder. But you’re right, it’s counterintuitive; it’s just so hard to trust sometimes.
Some things you said that especially rang true for me too:
“It bothers me that my family does not, and never will, understand the depth of my loss of A. I know that’s my fault; I could’ve been open, and honest, and up front about it, and I was too afraid to do so.”
“But they are less aware of how I’ve changed than just about anyone else in my life.”
“So I don’t think about it, and sometimes sort of forget about it, until those moments arrive, and I am reminded…reminded of what silence has cost me, and what it will continue to cost me as the years pass.”
I have a totally different set of circumstances from you, but I feel the same way about my own “family matters.” Simply because of how my family is–uncomfortable with displaying emotions, not talking about anything unpleasant, not being physically affectionate or emotionally intimate–I have kept a great deal of the truth of my widowhood from them. My widowhood is completely straightforward, so there’s nothing to keep secret there…except I keep the extent of the grief secret.
And I’m right there with Claire. My family has no idea I’m writing a blog…and it’s rather ironic that complete strangers around the cybersphere know more about me than my own family does. But I come from a Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell kind of mentality…not a horribly pathologic one, but one that exists nonetheless. And my sense of support from them has suffered as a result, especially as time passes on.
I’m so sorry that you can’t be honest and get the support you want…but maybe it has less to do with the “secret” and more to do with the inability of our families to be the ideal support forum for us, regardless of the circumstances. I’m glad you’ve found this blog and those of us “noncensuring” people out here who can help give you the support you can’t get from your family….Hugs.
You know, you make an excellent point, Candice. I assume that had I been able to share the truth of my situation with my family, they would’ve supported me in the manner I desired. But that really doesn’t take into account the reality of our dynamic in general. And that is that my family is, in fact, much like yours. My mother thinks our entire generation is a bunch of whiners because we talk about our problems instead of sweeping them under the rug. The fact is, we’ve never had an emotionally intimate relationship, so why would I fantasize that something like this would’ve been the catalyst for that? As all of us learned, you never know who’s going to support you or desert you during grief, or other hard times.
Thanks, Candice. You’ve given me a new and helpful perspective. And a lot of support. I really am grateful for this outlet, and the people who share it with me.