Estranged
I came from an unhappy family, as so many others did. Because of the conflict in my home. Because of the yelling, and the absence of love and caring, there was nothing that I wanted more in my adult life than to help create a happy one. There were two models for happy families when I was growing up:
TV families that were too perfect and unreal. I didn’t know anybody that lived in houses like that. There were never houses that looked like ours on TV
Families of my friends, most of whom were Mexican American. They were real. And one Irish Family that was generous beyond belief.
I thought my life would be a success if I could be a part of creating a happy unconflicted family, And for the first 10 years or so of our little family it looked like we had succeeded, but as adults my two kids are estranged and there is not the slightest sign that they will reconcile.
Father does not know best. The cultural symbols and celebrations of the happy family are powerful and for years a scourge on my soul. And the facebook posts, particularly on holidays. On Christmas and Thanksgiving. The unadulterated joy of the faces. The glowing expressions of love from child to parent and back again. They are breathtaking, and to me, unrecognizable.
I just today returned from a visit to deal with the death of my oldest living sister, and in the process met her friends' families, and none of them look like my facebook feed. None of them look like Christmas pictures. All of them look like struggling souls trying to do their best.
I need to get my head together about this and remember that Christmas, itself, took place out in a barn, not at a fancy food-filled table with glittering presents of excess. Out in a barn with animals and exiles.
I am only in charge of my own openness to heal. To reconcile. To show up. To love them. To grow beyond the cultural myths of the happy family. And give thanks for the real broken one I have. They’re never going to get a lot of likes on Facebook. They are never going to give me an award for the World’s Best Dad, which in fact, is not really a thing. And I can only hope that the estranged ones someday take a step toward each other.
Wouldn't that be something?
— DanielSouthGate
I came from an unhappy family, as so many others did. Because of the conflict in my home. Because of the yelling, and the absence of love and caring, there was nothing that I wanted more in my adult life than to help create a happy one. There were two models for happy families when I was growing up:
TV families that were too perfect and unreal. I didn’t know anybody that lived in houses like that. There were never houses that looked like ours on TV
Families of my friends, most of whom were Mexican American. They were real. And one Irish Family that was generous beyond belief.
I thought my life would be a success if I could be a part of creating a happy unconflicted family, And for the first 10 years or so of our little family it looked like we had succeeded, but as adults my two kids are estranged and there is not the slightest sign that they will reconcile.
Father does not know best. The cultural symbols and celebrations of the happy family are powerful and for years a scourge on my soul. And the facebook posts, particularly on holidays. On Christmas and Thanksgiving. The unadulterated joy of the faces. The glowing expressions of love from child to parent and back again. They are breathtaking, and to me, unrecognizable.
I just today returned from a visit to deal with the death of my oldest living sister, and in the process met her friends' families, and none of them look like my facebook feed. None of them look like Christmas pictures. All of them look like struggling souls trying to do their best.
I need to get my head together about this and remember that Christmas, itself, took place out in a barn, not at a fancy food-filled table with glittering presents of excess. Out in a barn with animals and exiles.
I am only in charge of my own openness to heal. To reconcile. To show up. To love them. To grow beyond the cultural myths of the happy family. And give thanks for the real broken one I have. They’re never going to get a lot of likes on Facebook. They are never going to give me an award for the World’s Best Dad, which in fact, is not really a thing. And I can only hope that the estranged ones someday take a step toward each other.
Wouldn't that be something?
— DanielSouthGate
"And I can only hope that the estranged ones someday take a step toward each other." What a profound hope following the the poignant depth of your story.
ReplyDeleteWhatever is dividing your two children...will perhaps one day become unimportant. I know you must love them both. Your sister must have had devoted friends if you actually got to meet them in person. That is a good thing. I hope you can wind down from the trip and that the resulting responsibilities are not overwhelming. (Macoff)
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