The house is quiet this afternoon as all have parted to rest after the funeral, graveyard, and repasse. I've kept up my writing though not my posting as I need some space of review before I share the work in progress. The series titled Notes From the Rabbit Hole, chronicles various aspects of reconnecting with my family of origin in the town where I lived from sixth through twelfth grade. On any given day I am assaulted by people who insist that I remember them even in the face of my blank expressions. I have been gone for 37 years. I did not socialize when I was here and was not attracted nor compelled to return.
The niceness patterns are overwhelming for me. I want to shout, stop pushing at me. No, I will not stay in touch. In my gentle voice, I say, thank you for your concern. No, we have plenty of food today. If you could save those dishes for when I leave it will be so helpful. Let me of here. I don't say the last part. I think it. People corner me and have conversations with the same stories I have heard the night before. They have no real interest in me at all. I just realized, I look exactly like my mother once did. Maybe they are just working out their grief. (Wow. I was probably low on love and compassion. I smiled a lot fighting to subdue my cross face - also my mother's.)
I am always pushing for some genuine interaction but it is slow in arriving. Even when I say that I have not been here for 37 years AND that I live two hours away, no one challenges that point. Where were you? What were you doing? How come you didn't come back? We are your relatives and we don't know you? Why are you even here now? How was your relationship with your mother?
They don't ask because I will answer. I am clear of the reasons and willing to share my feelings and opinions. I am thankful to have walked along the river and talked with my brothers. As hard as I thought my life was, theirs was awful. Even as I saw they had extensive privilege extended to and for them, they endured at least nine more years of misery and the continued distress associated with maintaining connection. I was saddened to learn of their mistreatment. I would have beat the shit out of people who were mean to my children the way my brothers suffered.
In thirty-six hours, I will be the only one here again. Well, I will be the one providing conscious support to my father. We will have thank you notes to send for the flowers and gifts. We will keep cleaning out the house of my mother's stuff. We will focus on one day at a time. My father said, well, that's done. I made it through this much. I replied, that's all that is required. As we learn to live each moment as it comes, we will find peace is already here.