Continuing from A Look Back – Part VI

Catch up on the full series – A Look Back

On my mother’s side I have no aunts or uncles. My mom had a brother who died at a young age of leukemia. My father had an older brother and four sisters. His brother died some years after my dad from some form of cancer. His sisters, my aunts are all still living. Regrettably, I don’t have much communication with any of them. Growing up we never lived nearby to any of them and over the years the distance between us only grew larger. The youngest of my aunts, Aunt Joy was my favorite probably because she was only eight or nine years old when I was born. I have memories of her from when I was a child. She took me on walks sometimes when we visited my grandparents. Sometimes she took me to a neighborhood store and bought me penny candy.

The question of the day asked me to write about close relationships I had with people on my mother’s side of my family. I had none. For all practical purposes my mother was an only child. My maternal grandmother was a little bitty lady. That is to say that she was under five feet tall. We visited her home regularly as I recall but her home was not a place for children. It was very neat, clean, and orderly. She had priceless curios and bric-a-brac on end tables and credenzas. I’m not sure any of it was really priceless but my mother displayed a certain amount of anxiety that me or my brother would break something during a visit. I don’t think we ever damaged anything. I wonder where all of my grandmother’s priceless debris went because her grandchildren are still here? As an old man looking back I realize that my grandmother should have recognized that her daughter and her babies were the only real treasures that she had. I honestly don’t think she…ever…really…saw me. Because of a recent momentary lapse in the security of my mom’s heart she told me stuff that showed me that her mother didn’t see her either.

The thing I recognize about myself because of this brief exercise of remembering people is that I don’t have close relationships with anyone who is in my extended family. That may be perfectly normal…I don’t know. That being said I’ll also shine a light on the fact that I have no close and personal relationships with anyone not in my family. On an emotional level it feels normal. I’m okay with that. However, from a logical and intellectual point of view I see that it isn’t normal…maybe even unhealthy. As I think about it further, I acknowledge that I don’t have close relationships with most of my children…as I define close.

I’ve spent the last several minutes trying to figure out how to best articulate my definition of what a close relationship is. I have a few of them but I can’t nail down the words. My primary close relationship is with my wife. Any other close relationship I have with anyone else falls beneath the umbrella of my primary relationship with my wife Keri. We chose each other. Time and circumstances have shown me that I made the better choice. She could have done better. Hers is the only opinion that matters to me about…anything. I think it was my oldest son who told me once that the reason I had no friends was because I didn’t care what others thought about me…except for his mom.

As it turns out I can’t define it. Let me explain what it looks like. I have a daughter who at this time is a young woman. Once upon a time she trusted me…she trusted me with something that as a father was profoundly difficult to hear…to understand…to accept. It doesn’t really matter what she told me. What mattered in the moment was a thought I kept thinking while she labored through the process of unpacking her heart. The thought was: “No matter what this girl tells me…it will not change how I feel about her…how I love her. What matters is that at the end of this conversation she has no doubt that her dad loves her.” At the end of that encounter my opinion is that she realized my opinions remained intact and that my love and acceptance of her were never really issues on the table. I suppose that, at least for me, a close relationship is one where I can confess anything without fear of being rejected. A close relationship is one where I can hear whatever one has to tell me and they realize that it doesn’t matter: I am still loved…still accepted.

On one hand I have five fingers. If each finger represented a close relationship I have with a person in my family, I would have one or two fingers extra. I can’t help but think that one or some of my children will read this and recognize that they aren’t as close to me as they thought…maybe disappointed…maybe hurt…maybe neither…maybe jealous…maybe pleased, I don’t know. I have learned that I can’t decide that I’m going to have a closer relationship with anyone. I’ve also learned that two people can’t mutually decide together that they’re going to have a closer more intimate association. It hasn’t worked that way for me. It can’t be humanly manufactured…this thing that I want. My life has shown me that there also must be a catalyst…an agent of change…up until now some life changing event…usually tragic…something orchestrated by God. A thing he allowed with no consideration for how it would wound me. In at least one regard I am like God. I have very little regard for the opinion of others as it concerns the things I do. I’m not sure that quality speaks very highly of me.

I want to have an extraordinary relationship with every single one of the children God gave me. What I don’t want…is the price God has extracted from people I love…my children…to make an extraordinary relationship with me possible. So if a child of mine reads this and recognizes that they are not one of my three or four “fingers” and they want to be…don’t worry it’s just not time yet. Some day something will happen…something difficult…something painful…something tragic…something I will hate God for allowing…that brings them home to my heart.