My cousin left home after he graduated from high school more than 25 years ago and hasn’t contacted his mother since. Of the 20+ kids who lived with us over the years that my mother and stepfather were together, not a single one ever contacted my mother after they moved out. I spoke to my (former) stepfather only once after he and my mother divorced. And that was only because I ran into him at a diner.
After a few years of making attempts to build a connection, I no longer speak to my father.
I guess you could say I come from a f***ed up family.
You might be right.
But I’m not the only one.
I have a friend who didn’t speak to his former stepmother for 30 years until one day out of the blue she sent him a card. I dated a women who hadn’t spoken to her father in years because he was “toxic”. Another friend’s daughter didn’t speak to him for a year after he split from her mother.
There are countless stories of estranged family members on the Internet.
It’s more common than I once thought.
So in my blissful suburban neighborhood, I sometimes feel a bit wistful when I see extended families getting together.
I see college kids moving back home. I see parents helping their kids buy, fix up and move into their homes. I see grandparents, aunts and uncles coming for the holidays or making extended visits. My neighbors tell me about moving here to be near their kids or their parents.
My friends at the pool talk about vacationing with their parents, grandkids or siblings.
Over the holidays, I see this even more.
I can’t wrap a bow on this post. There’s no neat and tidy ending.
I don’t feel sorry for myself – at all. My wife and I had a great life together. For decades, we enjoyed the love and company of a tight knit family and an extended family.
Before that, in my earliest years, I was part of a large extended family in my small town.
Most of them are gone now – through death, estrangement or other circumstances.
I wish they weren’t. But you know how I feel about wishes.