My step sister who isn’t my step-sister but just a woman who was the daughter of the man my mother lived with for 20 years or so -surprised her sister. We were never really close except in those emotionally fraught moments in the days after my mother’s death – I wasn’t even deemed worthy enough to contact when my step father that wasn’t my stepfather died. My mother the lady that tied us together is gone. And I’ve been I think largely forgotten. They aren’t mean people. Just probably don’t know how to deal with a freak like me.
So I don’t know why it made me cry.
Except that they have each other. And I don’t have any family at all.
And that seems incredibly unfair to me and I wonder why God did not deem me worthy of a family. I’m trying to believe this time of year and I’m just coming up empty with examples of God’s love in my life.I have love – but none of it seems heaven sent.
This Christmas I’ll be surrounded by good people, good food and likely lively conversations and overall a wonderful time -with a man I met less than two years ago – his family, his children – no one of my own, but him.
And I know it should be enough – I should be grateful that I have at least that – but nothing can convince my heart – It is not the same.
It is not the same – and yet I don’t think I have ever in my life craved a family until now. I was content with my own. With my boys. I guess I just never imagined that one day I’d be spending Christmases without them.
It never bothered me that my dad and my step mom turned their back on me when I was 15 – let me, nay encouraged me, to get on a Greyhound bus and disappear. Knowing full well I was walking into the arms of a schizophrenic and the murderer – who in the end were not bad people. But you’d think parents who professed to care would have a little more trepidation.
Or maybe it really was that bad that I had climbed out my bedroom window to a high school dance.
Except I don’t know anyone else who did that who got thrown away by their families too.Again…feeling like the only one – the story of my fucking life. And I hate being a whiner about it, but it hurts.
Like I said – it never started bothering me until my children went away to live with their father. Because even though they’re away from me…I see them every second week (except when the weather intervenes I must confess) and pay my child support as agreed and buy extras like school supplies and am involved in a way my parents weren’t after I walked out their door.
And it didn’t bother me that I was largely on my own from that minute on. That I was sent to live with the stranger who had given birth to me and then gone crazy. Institutionalized for life the doctors had predicted, and she never tried to reclaim me when the government decided life institutionalized was
too expensive, not in the best interest of psychiatric patients.
We’d be closer now, I think. If she was alive. But she died before I was old enough to appreciate her – I can only imagine the pain she must’ve felt and the tears she must’ve cried in the callous years. I never made it home for Christmas. I suppose it would serve me right to spend the rest of my Christmas’s without family around.
I probably won’t give up Facebook. Even though it makes me cry.
What else have I got to do with my time?
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