Your son turned six-months a few days ago. I saw a picture of him on Facebook. He looks just like you. I think I stared at the picture for 30-minutes though if anyone asked I'd deny it. I was struck by everything I'm missing, everything you're missing, and how much everything changed in just under a year.
I have a nephew I've never met, and I hold little hope of things changing. I don't know if his birth was easy or hard. I found out what his middle name was when a card showed up in the mail. He doesn't know me, and it's a sad realization that he probably never will.
My kids have stopped asking where you are and why you don't call. I'm not sure if that's better or worse than when the mere thought of you brought them to tears. It's been the hardest on my youngest son. You two were so close, had a special bond, or at least I thought you did. This has been so tough on him. Watching him suffer, cry for an Aunt that in his eyes simply disappeared, did something to me.
You're moving, building a house. I don't know where. I only found out by pure accident. I have no idea what kind of finishes you're choosing, if you'll have a big backyard your son can play in, or if you're going with tile or hardwood. The worst part of all is I don't care.
I had a cancer scare a few months ago, a mole with "disturbing color" and "questionable shape". They surgically removed it. The lab confirmed it was cancer, but said the margins were good. The doctor said I would be fine, but it was terrifying. I didn't tell anyone, not Dad, not my husband, no one. Talking about it would make it real, and I didn't want it to be real. The day I got the news I sat in the parking lot holding my phone, thinking about calling you, only to remember we don't do that anymore. So instead I allowed myself to cry for a minute, alone, and then drove home.
Life went on.
One day morphed into another until suddenly I tried to remember how long it'd been since I'd spoken to you, and I couldn't recall. Had it been six months or eight? What's worse, did it even matter anymore?
It wasn't one thing that brought us to this point. It was a thousand little things, a lifetime of resentment and anger buried so deep it took 30-years to surface. Sometimes I wonder if a singular event, a life-changing argument, would make this easier to cope with. At least then I'd understand it, be able to deal with it, maybe move on. It's almost impossible to make your peace with something you can't even identify much less understand.
I know you talk to Dad and our brother about it sometimes. I haven't because that isn't my way. I'm self-aware enough to know I avoid confrontation. I bottle things up, stuff them in a closet, and then shove a dresser in front of the door just to ensure nothing leaks out. I pretend this isn't happening because the idea of dealing with it makes getting through the day feel impossible. It isn't the most mature or healthy way to handle issues, but right now isn't about those things. It's about survival.
Nevertheless I've heard most of your complaints second-hand from them. To their credit both men have tried to stay out of this, but it hurts them to see us at odds. They both believe if our mother was still alive she would "fix this". I don't think that's true. She wouldn't like it, she would encourage us to talk, but she couldn't fix it. She wouldn't even try because she would understand the futility of such a thing. She's seen us go through this before. Just like those times the only people who can change the status quo are the two of us.
I know from dad you hold me responsible for things I had no hand in. You believe he "loves me more", "takes my side", and more things I'm at a loss to comprehend much less put on paper. Even if any of that was true, what fault is that of mine? Shouldn't you be upset with dad?
