When my brother died, I asked two cousins of mine if they could spread the word among the family. It turned out that they didn’t speak to those family members much either and, six months later, I received a message from a different relative asking about my brother and wondering why she hadn’t been informed of his death.
I felt bad. I felt uncomfortable. I felt angry.
Was it my responsibility to inform people? Was it my mom’s? How are we supposed to do that when we’re in shock, denial, and grieving — during the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic, mind you.
If I still sound a little angry, I guess I am. I also still feel guilty. I tell myself to have compassion for my past self. I did just lose my brother. The situation was more complicated by the fact my nuclear family is pretty estranged from our extended family.
Inside I feel this pressure to always do the right thing. Not just the right thing for me, but the one that causes the least harm AND benefits the most people — even if it isn’t the best thing for me at all. Sometimes this pressure is paralyzing, causing me to make no decision, no action. I’m waiting for the right answer to show it’s face.
Often, it never does.
I’m thinking about this now as I wonder who else I owe a phone call or a message to this month. Do I tell my ex from a decade ago that the cat we adopted together has died? Do I tell others who lived with us along the way? Do I tell my dad even though he never met Cosmo? Do I contact him on Father’s Day even though I haven’t spoken to him in more than a year? Do I owe him that? Does he owe me anything in return?
My guess is most people will think “no” to the first question (contacting my ex) and “yes” to the latter (calling my dad). My instinct is the opposite so, here I remain, paralyzed by indecision not wanting to open a Pandora’s box with either man.
I do what I hate to see others do: I avoid.
I avoid more than I’d like to admit to. When I want something to work out a certain way, I avoid the signs that say it won’t. I avoid crowds now and long phone calls. I avoid being vulnerable even with myself. It’s been so difficult to know what exactly it is I want when, for so long, I tried to adapt to the needs of others: I never fully committed to the task, though. Instead of doing what they actually wanted, I did what I thought they wanted, which had little to do with what I wanted.
Brains are amazing. The tricks we can play on ourselves in order to survive fascinate me endlessly. The more I learn about my own tendencies and other peoples,’ I realize how much I don’t know.
From a distance, I try to determine how my ex will respond to the news — like I still know him at all a decade later. I’ve changed so much. He must have too.
Does he want to know about the cat? Should I have let him visit the cat? Did I underestimate how much he cared about Cosmo (said cat)? Was I cruel to unquestionably claim him as my own? I thought my ex just wanted any excuse to keep me in his life. Now that I have known the love of an animal, however, (Cosmo being my first real pet experience) maybe I was wrong.
He’s a father now, so all of these concerns seem mundane: the anxieties of a childless woman with a lot of time on her hands. (Cue laughter, not pity, please!)
I’ll tell him soon because it feels like the right thing to do. He brought Cosmo into my life and I’m not sure I ever truly thanked him for it.
My dad, on the other hand, I’m not sure. Logically, calling him sounds like the right thing to do. When I think about it, though, my body tenses “no.” It doesn’t feel right. I don’t feel ready. I can’t explain why.
Do I owe him an explanation? What happens when he disagrees with it, fights it or tries to deny my reality? Can I handle that? I know I don’t want to.
“But he’s your dad.”
Yes. But he didn’t always act like it. Neither did mom, of course.
There’s a great stigma in being someone who doesn’t talk to their parents. I feel it inside of me too — like I’m participating in some cardinal sin.
Are we obligated to talk to our parents? To take care of them? Does it depend on how well they took care of us or, in some cases, if they took care of us at all? Does how they treat us — now or then — matter at all?
I wonder if I’m being too cold, too calloused. I wonder if my decisions are fair, justified. I wonder if I am what my parents said I was: “Ungrateful.”
Maybe.
Struggling with estrangement?
Death, Sex & Money did a whole series on the subject. You can find all six podcast episodes here: wnycstudios.org/podcasts/deathsexmoney/projects/estrangement.
And here’s a suggestion from this Refinery29 article by Molly Longman “How To Handle Father's Day When Your Dad Is Toxic”:
Dr. Barbara Van Dahlen, Ph.D., creator of a mental health nonprofit called Give an Hour, says it can be a good idea to find a friend, therapist, or family member you trust and talk to them about the feelings Father’s Day is bringing up for you.
“It’s always a sign that something is still weighing on us or burdening us if we can’t talk about it,” she says. “Talking is a way of bringing it into the light. It doesn’t mean we have to go into great detail… But, at some point, try to find a place where you can lift that burden by sharing.”
She says when you pick this person, it's best to find someone who will just listen, and not try to give you advice. If you do get advice, take it with a grain of salt. No one knows your situation like you do. “Sometimes people who mean well will say things like, ‘you should reach out to him’ or ‘I’m sure he loves you,’” Van Dahlen says. “That’s a don’t do.” If you know that reaching out to your dad would put you back in a dangerous or draining situation, keep that in the back of your mind. Don’t let someone convince you to do something that you know could ultimately be bad for you.
A running list of books that have helped me in my healing process is available at Bookshop.org/lists/self-help-together. (If you buy anything through this link, I may receive a small percentage as an affiliate, FYI.)
I’ve also started to make a podcast playlist as a companion to this newsletter. Right now it is in the form of a Spotify list because, thanks to a dear friend, I have a premium account. It’s free and available at this link!
Thank you for reading and, if you think you know someone who can relate to this newsletter, please share it. It’s nice to know I’m not alone on this journey. <3
I am so sorry to hear Cosmo passed away. I enjoyed his pictures. He was a beautiful cat. I know how much you loved him. You were a great mom and your heart has a missing piece without him. 💔 I am also sorry to hear about your brother. Thinking of you.
💜💜💜