On Saturday, the extended family gathered to celebrate my Uncle’s 65th Birthday. It was wonderful to see all of my Dad’s brothers and my rather large collection of cousins. I had a fabulous time.
My cousins put together a slide show of my uncle’s life. It was fantastic to see his life unfold in front of us. Later, Big Sis went on and on about how cheated she felt in seeing uncle so involved in his children and grandchildren’s lives when our own parent’s are so distant. A few questions of clarification and Big Sis was on a roll — downhill. I guess I had a hard time listening to Big Sis rant about each parent’s role in her miserable childhood. Big Sis was no saint. In fact, if memory serves me correctly, she pushed my mother on many occasion with her defiance.
It took some time to pinpoint exactly why Big Sis’ claimed unfairness bugged me so. I realized that it wasn’t so much that Big Sis had yet to come to terms with the way our lives changed post-divorce. It’s sad that she still hasn’t gotten there yet, but that isn’t my problem. It’s hers. I tried to tell her that it is up to her to make the relationship into what she wants, but she couldn’t quite hear that.
Big Sis kept talking about being “cheated” out of having a good relationship with our father, yet she is not doing much to change that. For example, by the time I visited our father this afternoon, Big Sis still had not called him to wish him a Happy Father’s Day. You can bet that he did notice.
When I think of the same slide show, I think on what could have been for my children who will never even have the choice to call, or not, on Father’s Day. Their lives will unfold with him only as a memory — nothing more. And sure, I would have liked to have had the choice to grow old with him by my side instead of having that choice taken away from me. But I wasn’t complaining about how “cheated” I felt. I was glad to share in the happiness that is family. It is wonderful.
I left uncle’s birthday party with plenty of time to swing by the Summer Solstice party. I was partied out though: exhausted beyond belief. Instead, I came home and went straight to bed. I slept over 10 hours and awoke to find myself in a pool of melancholy and self pity, which I let myself wallow in for a bit longer before I made myself go to church.