My "Perfect" Life - Part 9

My Grandmother's passing - I don't usually call it passing but rather 'death', though perhaps that word is too blunt for some. When my grandmother died it was the end of an era, the loss of my best friend, time to move on.

I've mentioned before in this blog how much I valued my grandmother. I think perhaps it was most because she valued me. I think she valued anyone she met, but each of us probably felt unique and special because of her. She could make you feel that way.

I only ever remember arguing with her once. I was sad about something and she said I had no right to be sad. Well, that incensed me because how could I not be entitled to my feelings? But I came around to understand her point of view - eventually. Her point was simply I could not have what I wanted and as I had no right to it, I had no right to feel loss either. There is some logic in that, though it doesn't sit well even now with my world view that we are all entitled to our feelings.

Anyway, I began by talking about her passing.

She lived to 89. She died owning and caring for her own home. She popped in and out of hospital a few times during the last few years, but never for long and always to recover. She never broke a hip or had a stroke - nothing of the usual aging process. And in the end, a tea toteler, she died from sclerosis of the liver (or related complications).

During her last hospital stay, my mother called me one evening and said Grandma was very poorly. My lip quivering like a child's (I was 29), I said I'd fly home on the weekend to see her.

My mother then painted a plane picture, though with kindness and gentleness.

"She isn't the same," she said. "She's in a lot of pain," she conveyed. Though Grandma was evidently past speaking, her pain was apparent. "I think you have to let her go," she said at last, and I knew it must be so.

I wonder how many people feel that, at a time when someone is dying, they hold on for the sake of a loved one until the loved one is ready to accept the end must come? I believe both my mother and I recognized this in my Grandmother's passing. Grandma knew I wasn't ready so she was holding on for me.

I hung up the phone and prayed, and then I accepted I'd never see her again. It was only hours later that my mother called to say she was gone.

A few months later, at a wedding, I went for a walk in the night air. And while I didn't go far and could still hear the music from the banquet hall, more I felt my grandmother's presence with me. That doesn't rest with me theologically; that I might get a message from the 'other side' is just not right, but I knew I felt loss and peace at the same time, and accepted she was gone.

I suppose I haven't too many people that I've lost. But it is never easy, no matter how intimate or how distant the person, is it? I've lost family members to old age and friends to cancer. I know people who have lost a child -- some have recovered from it, others I'm still praying for. But for me the deepest loss was my grandmother, because she was a joy and a pleasure to be around and a friend when I had no other.

I don't choose to mourn any longer or to regret, but I am grateful for what I had in my fun and loving grandma, and I aspire to be like her in some way: to reach toward others and to laugh in their midst.

My "Perfect" Life - part 8

'DISTANT' COUSINS

I've been chatting about my family as a means to disclose my own journey through childhood.

Today I'm going to digress slightly, and launch ahead to recent encounters with relatives I never knew before last week as a testament to the value of all of our 'intimate' relationships... I'm so glad I've discovered them.

I value family, though growing up in my own nuclear family I felt pretty isolated most of the time. A week ago I went to visit my first cousin whom I'd met only once before. Last week I met his family too. Though his wife describes their family as 'pure soap opera', I'd like to focus on the operative word: PURE.

What a motley crew my first cousin has! First, he's 2+ decades older than I am, which means his children are my age. Add together the fact that he had his children in his twenties and I in my forties, and we get his four generations of family to my two. My son played with my cousin's great grandchildren who are his peers. How bazaar is that? 

It must be neat to be a great grandparent; to watch your children's children have children must be awesome, though unfortunately the contemporary world has brought about family pain through broken relationships and an absence of marriage that has affected the third generation in my cousins family just like it has so many others across the Western world. Nevertheless, this family is bonded. For me it was positively charming to see the love and appreciation they showed toward each other -- and they had plenty extra that spilled over onto my own family. These are honest folk, striving to keep afloat in this economically uncertain time and who are venturing to make their own unique way in the world. I would sum up this family in a word: united.

For some of us, the word family conjures up thoughts of joy, for others frustration, and for still others, pain and heartache. To me, family is meant to represent acceptance, love, and safety. This is what I observed and experienced in my visit to my cousin's last week. 

We are not our family nor our past. Everything we experience forms and shapes our lives, and family - good, not-so-good or indifferent doesn't make us. Sometimes we fit right into our biological family and sometimes we don't. We don't have to. But we do all need a sense of family to give us a sense of connection and relationship. Sometimes family is biological, but often it isn't. From where do you most experience your sense of family?

Social networking provides a sense of family, when we share blog posts; sometimes these conversations are more intimate than face encounters. Church communities share a common bond. Friendships begun in childhood and carried throughout the stages of life are relationships that are familial in nature. These are not substitutes for family but are versions of it.

I have been blessed with a healthy and happy family now that is shaped by where my husband and I have come from. I trust that in two generations of time, the marks of love, acceptance, safety and unity that we share will still be hallmarks in future off-spring. It was wonderful to observe in my cousin's nuclear family the transparency and love for one another. And an affirmation for me that my own family is on the right track.

My "Perfect" Life - Part 4

Sibling rivalry is bound up in disappointment. I was never disappointed by my sibling, so I never felt to rival her.

She was brainy and I admired her for it. I remember her reading one high school course for fun whilst studying another for credit. She read fiction voraciously. And sometimes she would recount to me lots of history I would otherwise never have learned. I learned more about Hitler and Russian and British history from her than from text books. I loved listening to her and I learned a lot. I wish some of those golden moments could have been kept in a bottle, because decades later, I have only memories. Our dysfunctional family has produced a gulf between these two sisters that only a miracle can close. I hope, one day, a miracle will come to pass.

My sister and I used to fight a lot. My mother, herself an only child, didn't seem to have any equipment in her mothering 'toolkit' to help us get along or to 'like' each other. Actually, I adored my sister.  Playing Sound of Music together was a favourite pastime for me - she sang the Maria parts and I played the sixteen year old girl to her Rolf. But I wonder if these play times meant as much to her? While most siblings grow up and get to share their memories and compare their perspectives, we have not.

I was four years her junior and labelled a pest. I liked to hang around when her friends were over, which she didn't like. I couldn't take a hint and was irritating I suppose. But I liked her friends, and admired her. I could have listened to her endlessly. Once I found her journal - she must have been in university by then. I only looked inside briefly but what I found was truly awesome! She wrote prose as though it were poetry; her reflections were intimate and beautifully composed. I only peeked as I knew it was wrong, but if I could have read her work I'd have soaked up every word.

I wouldn't say I lived in her shadow, though I admired her for her brilliance. Instead, by comparison, I was a more outgoing teenager to her quiet, introverted personality -- I dated a fair bit, was a bit sporty, acted in plays. By the time I grew up, I had mostly outgrown my interest in spending time with her. We had little in common except a last name. I would have liked to have been closer, but we were so different, I didn't really know how to befriend her. We were disconnected, but in spite of that, my respect for her never waned. Now, this sad comfort is all I have to offer a sister who wants nothing to do with me.

What do you do when someone you love but don't really know says she wants to live her life without you in it? What can you do? You can pray for change. You can try to reach out. But inevitably, I believe you must respect her wishes. Whatever the reason she may have, it is what she's said she wants. And a relationship without respect is no relationship at all.

Two decades since my sister said she wants me to have no part of her life, every indication suggests she has not budged in her attitude.

When I read stories of twins, who were separated at birth but in middle age are suddenly reunited, I think of my sister and I and wish we could have a happy ending. When I think of foster children forced to be raised in different households, longing for their siblings but remaining alone, I think how ungrateful we have been to have grown so far apart. And I think of my mother who had wanted a sister but had grown up an only child, and how she must have been devastated by the rift between her two daughters. Yet, out of respect, I continue to do nothing, because I want to honour my sister and don't know what else to do but to obey her wishes to stay out of her life.

I am sorry for the rift. I am sorry for my part in it. But I am unable to provoke change.

I'd like to end this excerpt on a cheery note. I can say I've seen my sister at a distance a few times quite unexpectedly, and I'm glad. I'm thankful for the opportunity to have seen her, to see that she is content. I wonder if a birth parent of an adopted child might feel a little as I have - watching without the other person even knowing she's there. I haven't approached my sister because I don't want to upset her; perhaps I give myself too much importance. Or perhaps I failed to recognize when we were young that I was important to her at all.

I wonder too, if she has had similar encounters with me - from a distance, without my awareness. And if so, I hope she is comforted.

Have you experienced a separation from someone you love but from whom you are now estranged? If so, how have you coped?

I'll write again next Thursday, sharing another glimpse into my past, hoping to spark something in you that invites your reflection too.

My "Perfect" Life

Imagine a perfect world in which to grow up: it is an idyllic world where your physical needs are provided. You never go hungry, have attractive clothes to wear and your mother and father are married and seem to love each other. You know from an early age that education is important and that whatever post secondary education you will desire will be made available. The country is Canada, where the true north is indeed 'strong and free'. Your world encourages freedom of speech, religion and politics.

Now imagine such a world where there is no sense of being loved, of belonging, or of being taken seriously. Suddenly, you are in the world in which I grew up. Children are to be seen and not heard, integrity is only expected in the adult world, and behavior is criticized but never corrected.

I loved my parents, now both deceased. I loved them enough never to have composed the stream of thought I'll compose here because it would have angered them. Interesting I don't say 'it would hurt them.' I would not write if it would hurt them either, but I'm not sure it is possible I ever hurt them. I'm not sure they liked me enough to be hurt. Rather, they disliked me enough to get angry with me.

In my head are many random stories. Each of them are true. How do I compile a series of vignettes that will best encapsulate my family history? And why do I do it? These are the questions I must ask myself as a writer.

As this is a blog, I think I'll provide one story at a time, randomly at first. Perhaps something will begin to take shape and from that I'll design a more structured approach.

As to why I do it? It seems fitting to write about my life given I've entitled this blog "A Life Examined". I'm aware as I write now that my tone is a bit clipped and my mood remote. Perhaps I'm a bit nervous about writing to the world; perhaps I'm a bit anxious I'll fail. I know I'm not angry with my parents or my sister. I'm just wary of what I'm about to do... to share my journey in order to capture another's interest.


The first story has just two characters, my mother and me. It isn't even a story really, but a moment in time. It begins with my mother raising her hand to me and stopping. I was about 9. I remember I'd done something wrong - I don't know what but I'm certain I knew at the time - and she was really cross. She raised her hand and our eyes met. I was scared she was going to hit me and that fear must have been written all over my face. She looked at me, her hand suspended in the air and said, "Some day I'm going to hit you." (she never had up to that point, that I can remember, nor ever did)

The moment passed. I guess she walked away. There was no hit, but no hug either. No physical contact of any kind.

I was not punished for whatever I'd done. I expect she showed compassion, or tried to, by not spanking me. But she didn't teach me, correct me or help me to learn from whatever I'd done that I shouldn't have done it. Interesting that I remember the moment of eye contact and fear, but not what I'd done to cause her anger. Was it good for me as a child, to live in a house where my mother never spanked me? Certainly to have no consequence for bad behaviour was not ideal.

It was the '60's and Dr Spock and such teaching was that you should not spank a child and a child will work things out for themselves. Well, I didn't. Perhaps others did.

It's stories like this that I'll write about. It's stories like this that make me feel sad about how I grew up: completely disjointed from my mother, who lacked confidence, and from my father, who was emotionally shut down.

I grew up in one of the biggest houses on the street, with educated parents and a very brainy sister. I had music lessons and at 6, when I had trouble with reading, my mom helped me until I could read. But inside myself I was alone, lonely and torn between over confidence and under confidence, because I felt no love.

I have love now in my own family. I'm very blessed. And I'm grateful for my history, because it's made me who I am now. But every little experience as a child has the potential to bear significant impact on life as a whole. Perhaps I'm writing to help you to tap into your memories, to see how they've impacted you - for better or worse - and to help you to grow beyond them. Perhaps I'm writing to parents who struggle with parenting, or to siblings who struggle with sibling relationships. Perhaps I'm writing to daughters and sons who have parents who are aging and there is unsettled business between them. Whoever I'm writing to, I'm hoping my words will be read, and the words will help to make our relationships better, while we are still on the earth. I shall write again next Thursday. (Is it Thursday's child that's full of woe??)

me, sitting in my back garden

On Divorce and Friendship

I have more than one friend going through a divorce right now. Perhaps it is because I went through it thirty years ago, or more likely it is just that I try hard to listen, but I mourn for my friends and yet I encourage them too. Divorce is an awful course, and it is very sad when two people who once looked so hopeful into their future together finally say the pain is greater than the hope and we must stop.

I expect that nowadays there are some people who enter into marriage lightly -- optimistic for the future but not thoughtful enough or aware enough of the hardships to come. But many, many people enter into marriage for life and it turns out for one or both of them to be a 'life sentence'. For those, I think divorce may well be the only option. I have not come to this conclusion lightly.

I am writing as a follower of Christ. I believe Jesus, though advising against divorce, grieves more the abused woman's case than a broken marriage. If a partner is violent, addicted, or willfully abusive habitually and is unrepentant or does not wish to change, I cannot believe that Christ would have us stick to the letter of the law when the spirit of the marriage is broken. If he wanted the letter of the law, surely he would have condemned 'the woman caught in adultery.'

I also believe that this time in the Church's history is a most challenging one. We are called to exhort one another and to love one another at a time when society is dancing to the tune of self-centered hedonism; the world seems to condone many actions that are not Biblical. How should an observing believer then, approach a sister or brother disillusioned with marriage and broken in spirit? To come along side another who is grieving the breakdown of a marriage may be a difficult thing for some who believe there is no room for divorce, but 'if we are as a clanging symbol and have not love we are nothing.'

Marriage is a partnership. What if one partner categorically refuses to make an effort? Do you think Jesus didn't know he created a conundrum when he said there is no room for divorce except in the case of adultery? But was he referring to both women and men, or only to men? It was, after all, a male dominated society.

At the heart of everything Jesus taught is one word: Love. Love and marriage are ALWAYS worth saving. But if one partner is abusive or unwilling to take equal responsibility for the marriage, would Jesus say the other must love alone? "Greater love has no man than this: to lay down one's life for his friend." If each in a marriage cannot or will not lay down his life for the other, then I personally do not believe the other should live for the rest of his/her life condemned to a loveless relationship. I do not believe that is what Jesus taught and those who seek to enforce this miss the heart of the gospel.

Jesus came to set us free from sin and death. Abusive relationships are both emotionally and literally deadly. While I do not condone divorce, I do not think it loving to condemn those who feel they must enter into it. Rather, I believe we are called to love one another and in the name of love, I seek to encourage us to do that wholeheartedly and without condemnation toward one another.

I would greatly appreciate your thoughts and theology on this issue. Please will you offer your insights as you feel led to share?

Eulogy

My cat died today.  Carleton was lovely – young, robust, even tempered, affectionate.  His greatest passion was running, and we let him run.  Perhaps that was our mistake.... because he was struck by a car today, possibly as he was running home to one of us beckoning to him.  How ironic that would be.  He was struck today and the culprit didn’t stop.  Instead a ‘good Samaritan’ lady found him and wrapped him and took him to the vet.  The tags he wore identified him and so we were called.  We went to say ‘goodbye’.

I hate to say ‘goodbye’ to such a dear friend.

Here is his eulogy:

Carleton Tun: you were so lovely, tolerant of our equally robust six year old boy, always ready to play or to cuddle, but especially keen to run.  You dashed out of the house some mornings like a racehorse at the starting gate.  You were quick, strong yet gentle.  Always a keen mouser, if I rescued one from your grip you never complained.  Neighbours loved you.  And I was looking forward to winter as you’d be inside much, much more, to keep me company whilst I typed.  How you liked to sit on my chair; you would allow me to perch in front of you while you stretched across the rear of the seat.

You will be sorely missed.  We were grateful and very blessed to have you in our home.  It was all-too-brief but wonderful to know you. 

We will miss you.