Finding my self-identity through death and discovery
My childhood self-identity was fear and uncertainty
I am shocked out of deep sleep by loud noises coming from down the hall.
My mother is screaming.
From my bedroom, I can tell she is in the kitchen, as I hear cupboard doors slamming and dishes rattling.
I feel my heart racing, and I can’t breathe.
Is she angry at me? I wonder with panic. Please don’t let her be mad at me.
My bedroom door isn’t locked. So, I lie, frozen, waiting to see if she makes a move towards my bedroom.
No. Not me, I realize with relief – that only lasts a second. She’s screaming at my father.
She’s slamming the cutlery drawer – metal crashing off metal. In her fury, she is threatening to kill him, as she storms down the hall to their bedroom.
I hear him pleading with her, trying to calm her down. She’s out of control.
Meanwhile, I’m alone in the dark. I am scared.
My mother’s death brings relief instead of grief
I am an adult. My mother recently passed away.
I feel no sorrow; only relief. A general relief that her suffering with cancer is over. Relief that she will no longer have to endure her family trying to push religion on her in her final days. Also, relief for my father that he will no longer need to be a 24/7 caregiver. More importantly, relief that he will now be free of her and her vicious ways.
For me, I am relieved that I will never again experience the discord between reality and my mother’s Norman Rockwell expectations of our family, and the soul crushing pressure that came with it. Relieved that the insufferable charade has finally come to an end.
Beyond relief, I feel guilt. Guilt that I am not grief-stricken. From the outside, people think I am being stoic. But the truth is I’m just not sad.
I sit with this guilt, because I can’t express my true feelings without facing harsh judgement. Therefore, I am alone with my relief, guilt, and lack of sorrow.
Searching for answers only brings more questions
A few months after my mother’s death, I called one of my mother’s sisters to ask her for the family medical history. I need this information before her seven brothers and sisters all inevitably fade into the ether.
As the conversation ends, she comments on my strength.
“I know how hard your mother could be to deal with,” she says.
In my shocked silence she adds: “She had her problems and always was a handful.”
A handful? I repeat to myself, incredulously.
But before I can even respond to her comment, I am suddenly catapulted into one of those movie montages where the floor drops out. I’m floating in a time popsicle, while my life’s memories flash all around me.
She’s beating me with a wooden spoon.
“You’re an ungrateful bitch!” She yells.
I’m hiding in my bedroom trying not to soil myself, because it’s not safe to go to the bathroom right now.
I’m cowering in the dark, struggling to find the courage to call the police.
Is she trying to tell me they knew? That my mom’s family was aware of what I was living through? I question with alarm.
They knowingly left me there, a defenseless child?
I am stunned by this sudden knowledge, and the weight of it is staggering.
With this new understanding, I feel more alone and abandoned than I ever have in my life.
An orphan adrift in a sea of mixed emotions
I am 45 years old, and my father is dead.
Honestly, I’m in shock. His passing was unexpected, sudden, and it feels surreal. As a result, I feel an immense burden as I start taking care of his estate and all that it entails.
However, when I pause to take a breath, I notice another feeling deep within me. A profound and unexpected sense of loss.
Not so much a loss of my father. Rather, I’ve lost my sense of place. I’ve been cast adrift. The one thing that still anchored me to this world is gone.
For good or bad, my parents are the reason I exist. I walk on this earth because of them, and now they are both gone. It is unsettling to be an only child with no parents.
I didn’t think I would feel like this.
For one, I have been on my own a long time, both figuratively and literally. Plus, I was only slightly closer to my father than I was to my mother. He and I were alike in many ways, but I harboured a deep resentment towards him that, as the other adult in our household, he never protected me.
Once I was old enough to comprehend my circumstances, I quickly realized that whenever I was the target of my mother’s ire, he was content to allow it, because it took the focus off of him.
He would shake his head and sigh, wandering off to bed at 8pm. He just wanted to keep his head down and make it through another day. However, this left me stranded with her and her deranged world view, allowing her to falsely accuse me of a myriad of sins and endlessly berate me.
Wondering where I belong and who I am
Prior to his death, I assumed that when my father passed, I would feel about the same as I did when my mother died. It would be a moment in time, tinged with guilt.
Probably, I would feel like a weight had been lifted. I would cease to fret over how to take care of him as he aged. I wouldn’t have to make those cross-country treks to visit him. The visits, during which I sat in his house staring at the walls as our conversation ran dry. We watched re-runs of Murder She Wrote and old CBC classics, while I watched my father cringe at the interruption of his routine.
He tried to do what he thought was expected, as the host, but it only made me feel like a burden.
I thought his death would be the closing of a difficult chapter and I would simply move on. However, in reality, I feel empty. Like I no longer belong to this universe.
It’s ironic, feeling this way now. As for decades, I felt like I didn’t belong in my own family. I didn’t fit in. We didn’t share the same values or beliefs.
However, with my father gone, I feel like I don’t belong anywhere. I am overwhelmed with a sense of self-doubt. Not knowing the purpose or value of my own existence.
With this, an unexpected void emerges. A hollow that isn’t filled no matter how many phone calls and appointments I have with the accountant or Estate lawyer. There isn’t enough paperwork in Probate Court to close the gap I now feel.
Finding myself in my ancestors’ stories
With this hole in my life and my soul, I find myself drawn to my family history in a way that I never have been before. Without the presence of my parents, past generations take on a new hue. A new hope, even.
The barrier that always existed between me and my ancestors has dissolved, and I am filled with curiosity. Where did my ancestors come from? Which ships brought them across the ocean to start their new lives? Where did they settle? What are their stories?
As I delve deeper into my family’s history, my connection to my roots grows stronger. Through this research, I have discovered that my childhood home, the house I have inherited, was built on land that has been in my family since 1826.
I collect all of the deeds, which document how the land was subdivided and passed down through the generations. Surprisingly, I learn that one of my great grandfathers was a bigamist and spent some time in jail after being convicted. This family secret emerged from my obsessive investigation and was confirmed in an email conversation with one of his daughters from his third marriage.
My family did not know that this branch of the family tree even existed, and yet I have been able to connect with my grandmother’s half-sister and share some family history.
Bridging a broken past to a hopeful future
Sadly, my grandmother passed away before I was born, and I can’t help but wonder what she would make of this new information.
I now know that one of my great-great-great-grandfathers died at home on Steadman Street in Moncton, New Brunswick in 1920. Seventy years later, in 1992, I lived in the house next door. A strange coincidence that brought me so close to my own family history without me even knowing it at the time.
Stories such as these are helping me forge new links between me and my extended family. They reinforce the foundation previously crumbling beneath me, and they remind me that I do belong.
I have a place in this world, and it was carved out for me by those who came before me.
Finding Allies in my extended family
Since my father’s death, I’ve served as the spokesperson for my nuclear family within the much larger family framework.
To be honest, I do not feel prepared to fill this obligation or role. At the wake, I couldn’t even correctly identify all of the family there.
Thankfully, I have unforeseen allies who are willing to step in and lend a hand when required. Relatives, who I have not spent significant time with during my adult life, provided me with the surnames of those who needed to be named in the obituary.
They also stepped forward to host the wake and make phone calls to these unknown relations of mine.
I will be forever grateful for their support when I needed it most.
Choosing a family for love not bloodline
With my parents no longer around me, I am able to stand as my own person, distinct from that family unit and all that came with it. With this new clarity, I can see those who stand with me.
Even though I am an unmarried, childless, and orphaned only child, I am not alone nor am I lonely. I am not isolated, and I am not unloved.
In fact, I am surrounded by a family. But this family I have selected for myself. They are Intelligent, caring, ambitious, confident, and engaged people who are always there for me. People who listen without judgement, who accept me as I am, and who make me laugh until my face hurts.
These people in my self-made family bring out the best parts of me. They encourage and support me and take a genuine interest in my life and well being. Most importantly, they are always there to help me get back up when I fall down.
Yes, these people are not my own flesh and blood, but they are the people I hold most dear. When they hurt, I hurt, too. When they celebrate, I celebrate with them.
And, when they are in need, I am there for them without hesitation. It has taken decades to find this family of mine.
My self-identity now chooses love over fear
In my past, there were many times when I felt alone. Abandoned. Deserted and betrayed. When I felt lonely. Or, when I felt adrift.
However, at this moment, I feel none of those things.
Instead, I feel a deep connection to my own history and where I come from. I know who I am and how I got here, and I honor each person in that chain who played a role in my creation.
Today, I am surrounded by people who support me and look out for me without even being asked. This family of my choosing forms a web of strength and authenticity around me and provides the stable foundation previously lacking in my life.
I appreciate these people more than they could ever know.
Gather loving people like sparkling jewels
Like gemstones scattered across the ocean floor, kindred spirits are constantly drifting across the paths of our lives.
If we catch a glimpse of one, we must make every effort not to lose sight of them.
We must gather these precious gems around us and hold them tight, as they are the most precious gift we will ever find.
