Fifty Years Without Repair

I have never—not ever, not once in 50 years—had a moment of resolution with my mother or sister in which each person owned their contributions to the situation. All initiatives by me are handled one of three ways:

1. No response.

2. A response that doesn’t acknowledge what I’ve said but offers the standing invitation to come pretend everything is fine—to put it all behind us. Because the only real transgressions are open expressions of feeling or conflict. It is more acceptable to be openly hurtful than to openly express being hurt.

3. And finally, my favorite (especially when many are copied): character assassination. I’m certain they agree that if I were less “shitty,” they wouldn’t have to do that.

I cannot take responsibility for the words and actions of others. Program teaches me what is and is not mine.

It will be interesting to see if this attempt will be any different. My older son is so distraught by the escalated tension between his father and me, by the triangulation of him with my family—and the reality that as long as it remains like this, my children cannot count on a healed family holiday, seated at a table with both of their parents. I feel I must try something.

Also, we did not trek our entire lives cross‑country so that my mother could go to her grave with this bullshit hanging between us.

Here it is↓: