Yesterday was a dreary, dreadful day, twisting this way & that way between nasty rain & flat out snow (enough for several inches precipitation). The perfect day to send my sister a pair of fluffy warm sockets in bright pinks & blues & polka dots, the toes of one pair sporting a pin proclaiming, "I dream of a world where a chicken can cross the road without its motives being questioned." Only note a quick scrawl on the back of the envelope explaining the contents seemed advisable in such wretched weather.
I have, perched next to me, a 9/14/14 Philadelphia Inquirer article about proposed renovations to the Harold F. Pitcairn Wings of Freedom Air Museum at the former Willow Grove Naval Air Station. Unlike the socks sent to Mim, I've never mailed to the article to Peter, even though it's sure to be of interest to him.
Today, it came to me why it is wise & good & possible to have a light-touch connection with my sister, but not a similar "via U.S. mail" relationship with my older brother. In all my experiences with Mim, she has made it clear (literally) that she has no affection for me, that I am more likely to irritate the daylights out of her than not & I am, to her, the human equivalent of fingernails raking across a chalk board. For all of that, she has never, not once, made it clear or even given the impression that she doesn't consider me her sister. Peter has. Not once, but twice - well, there were plenty of other times, too, but they could be explained away by a hopeful heart.
And it wasn't the words he used that awakened me to a truth that was already lodged in my deep consciousness. On both occasions, it was his eyes that revealed the utterness of his distance from me. Both times, the information didn't engulf me as grief or sadness or even regret, just gratitude that what I'd long felt was confirmed. There was, there is no me in his life.
How could I feel a sense of gratitude because my oldest brother has no sense of me as a sibling? Because dealing with stunning family dynamics, of which Peter's (and Kerry's) are the most extreme but certainly not the most intriguing, left me with 1) a profound love & respect for relationship in general, not just family ties ~and~ 2) a respect for the wild ways of family relationships, something that stands me in excellent stead working with grannie clients & their families. As rough & rocky as those relationships can get, they do so because they exist. That's worth honoring. In the rare instances where - like my brother with me - there is a total yet unacknowledged un-ness, I can respect & honor that too, not trying to understand or heal, but letting it be what it is in its own perverse whole.
Today, Thanksgiving 2014, I give myself permission to stop feeling a call to reach out to Peter. It would be more than false, it would be a travesty. I respect relationship too much to succumb to the siren call of being the sister he doesn't, in the sinew of his being, accept as existing.
Am left with a remarkable sense of gratitude that something so unexpected as experiencing Maggie Smith's character in The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel lead me to such an unexpected epiphany Something terribly sad happened to Muriel Donnelly, something that turned her bitter & angry & isolated. She'd given her all to people she loved who placed no value to her care & loyalty & love. No one was more surprised than she when it turned out that all the care she'd given & the great lengths she'd gone to were exactly what she needed to change her life - and countless others - to fabulous. If everything hadn't happened as it did, as harsh & heartbreaking as it was, she would not been in the right place at the right time with the right background & skills.
I expected a lovely Thanksgiving snuggle & movie night with my O Best Beloved. What I ended up with was a shout-from-the-roof-tops sense of gratitude to all that has been & all that is & all that is to come. And indescribable happiness at mailing off a pair of fluff with a chicken quote!
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