8w 3d
I was wondering when I’d have it in me to write about this. I guess today is the day.
Woke this morning sobbing. The sounds of my cries woke Mr. JB. It took me almost two hours to settle down and get myself together. I’ll blame the 8 oz. of diet coke I drank while watching The Ten Commandments last night combined in cocktail with my pregnancy hormones.
I had a dream that my parents stopped by. They happened to be in town and decided to just drop in. I was thrown off. They never just drop in, but in dream-time it was late April and close to time to let them know about their new grandchild. I welcomed them, made tea and sat down to talk with them.
I told them the news and they were happy. Wait. No. Happyish. Congradulations. Smiles. Then they started talking about other things. Antiques. Basketball. Their other grandchildren.
I feel the frustration rising within me. Anger growing. I finally snap a “Why do you do this? Why did you change the subject? Why aren’t you interested in me?”
“What? Of course we’re interested in you. Of course we care. Did we tell you about J.s basketball game?”
I begin to list it all….from the beginning…how their treatment of me has been so different than the treatment of my siblings…how they are only interested in sports achievement in youth and business achievement in adulthood (neither of which I excel at)…how they disregard me and gave the example of the year they didn’t tell me they changed Christmas from one time to another (even though I was making the main dish) (oh, and how they never even invited my little brother one year)….how the last time the spent the night at my house they NEVER asked me anything about me, about work, about anything…how when they visited that time they had an hour to talk to me and my brother and his wife and didn’t say a word until my dad finally just took the remote and turned on sports…and why it is that my younger brother and I never turn to them for help or advice while my older siblings do…how they never spent time with me and would rather just sit at home than to be at any of my plays or events…how they never took us to DO things and how clearly irritated they were on the rare occasions when they did…how when I couldn’t find a date to the debutante ball I committed to participate in in high school and neither of them would go with me even when I asked…how I never felt supported…how they never enabled me to make my own decisions, from choosing a college to choosing my bedspread…how their random scoldings and punishments (never with explanation) made me feel as though I would get in trouble every time I turned around, even into adulthood (I’m still scared of answering the phone for fear that I’ll get in trouble)…how I didn’t understand how they carted the older ones to swim meets every weekend for years and I had to beg them for the most basic swim lessons…how their priority was always themselves…how much it hurt that they made such a big deal about calling my older brothers and sisters every Sunday when they were in college, visiting at least once a semester and then not calling me or my little brother ever, never visiting, not even taking him on his first day of college…how I spent years questioning if they actually love me…how hard it was to still be a child in what they already felt was their empty nest
They sat there and as I listed things, tried to explain, they began to talk. Loudly. Trying to cover my voice with theirs. They refused to even hear me. They refused to believe they’ve done anything wrong. They refused to believe they treated us differently. They just talked louder and louder to drown me out.
I must have been crying in my sleep because I woke up with my face soaked and my throat raw. The sobs grew harder as I tried to catch my breath. That’s when Mr. JB woke up.
It was a nightmare, but not because it was outrageous. It was too real.
With the exception of them speaking over me (they’d just ignore me or sit there and stare at me instead), it was all plausible. It’s a discussion I’ve tried to have with them. I’ve tried to explain it before. They don’t see the difference in how they treated my older brothers and sisters. They don’t believe they’ve done anything wrong. They didn’t abuse me. They occasionally said thoughtless things, but just because they are thoughtless people. They fed me and clothed me and never struck me. Instead, they ignored me. Not intentionally. Not maliciously. They just did.
They think I’m blaming them for everything wrong in my life, which I’m not. I love my life and I take responsibility for my actions. There are things I need to work through because of my experiences, but everyone has that. They think I have distanced myself from them because I don’t love them. Not true. I love them deeply. That’s where most of my pain comes from. They think that I have pulled away just to hurt them. Again, not true. I’ve pulled away to find some small amount of healing so that I can come to peace with my relationship with them. I find myself confused and wounded. I just don’t understand why a child of their own flesh holds so little interest to them. I’m hurt, injured. Especially when I can see with my own eyes that they can be different and more.
I’ve moved from being angry with them. The anger has dissipated. I sometimes get frustrated they refuse to acknowledge my feelings. I know I should forgive them, but how is beyond me when they believe there is nothing to forrgive and that the wrongdoing is on my part. I’m deeply sad that they don’t seem to care about me in the way they care about the others. It hurts to know that if I step back and look at this logically, the surprise of my conception should have been followed by a choice to terminate. They didn’t have the emotional resources to raise me. They would have been happier without me. I bring them no joy, just consternation and confusion. That’s not to say I’m not happy to be here, it’s just to say that my presence in their life seems to be more of a burden than any child should be.
What they want from me now is to just play the game, to help create the illusion of the happy, close family, but with none of the work, none of the actual intimacy that I crave. The others either have that intimacy or they play along (including my younger brother now), so why don’t I?
I don’t because I can’t. I can’t pretend that they know me. I can’t pretend that I’m not hurt. I can’t pretend that it doesn’t exist. But I’m not keeping them away. I will happily and thankfully and gratefully work through this with them. The offer has been extended. It stands. Hanging out there. Met with silence. I will tell them. I will listen. I will try to understand. I will forgive. I will ask for forgivness. I would do all of that. But I will have trouble doing less than that.
I’ve devoted so much of my life to creating a child. I’ve devoted so much of my energy and strength to bringing a child into our home. I have wept and prayed for this chance. If this finally happens, I won’t be a perfect parent.
But I will do everything in my power to make sure my child never has reason to question if he is loved.