The Unapproachables (19th Post)

Beginning in childhood, I wanted relationships with my extended family. At that time, though, my heart and hands were full with my mission to solve the puzzle of me, my parents, and my older sister. The mere thought of pursuing relationships with my relatives - who were mostly strangers to me - overwhelmed my heart, spirit, and my undiagnosed TBI brain. Brain damage to my frontal lobes from 2 TBIs meant anytime I attempted to use Executive Functions to create a project - or to follow a mission in my case - unbeknownst to me the planning, problem-solving, organizing, and decision-making skills were being held hostage by brain damage and her accomplice: neuro-fatigue. This left me with only musing and being at a loss. Thus, trying to solve another puzzle, (the extended family), was something impossible for me to do on my own. In addition to the TBI aspects, there was a deep emotional impact when contemplating connecting with relatives who avoided family relationships. Consequently, as a child, I concluded it was best to wait till I was an adult to solve the puzzle of “the unapproachable relatives.” Now that I know I have TBI, and reflect on that childhood decision, that decision was a very wise one. 

Upon graduating from Graduate School, I felt more skillfully equipped and emotionally ready to begin to contemplate how to gingerly approach my relatives, who over the years, showed no interest in wanting to be approached. After examining the pros and cons of different methods to use to connect with my relatives, I selected writing a  letter. I opted for this idea for several reasons. I am a Jane Austen girl, believe in manners, and enjoy writing letters. ( In 2019, when I was diagnosed with TBI, I started Occupational Therapy. My Occupational Therapist informed me that writing out my thoughts helped my brain connect the dots and circumvented the damage to the frontal lobes.) So, this idea of writing my relatives had benefits for my brain, which, I was not aware of at the time. I also felt a handwritten letter demonstrated sincerity, was less invasive than a phone call, and definitely less invasive than an out-of-the-blue appearance on their doorstep. Plus, a bonus for me, I did not have to worry about being tongue-tied in person from anxiety and apprehension. And this approach also allowed my relatives to have their own private reactions and time to digest my formal invitation to connect. I felt it was a win-win for all involved. YAY me.

I met my relatives only once during my childhood. Only 2 of them, my maternal grandmother and a maternal aunt established a limited correspondence with my family. I was thrilled and supported by their decision. However, my grandmother was an immigrant from Czechoslovakia, who while she spoke English, wrote better in Slovak - a language which I did not know, so we corresponded mostly through cards containing short notes. My aunt spent her entire career with the Foreign Service stationed overseas. She wrote on occasion. I wrote her frequently since she told me she really enjoyed my letters. I was happy with being able to connect with both of them. They turned out to be resources in this new mission.

My parents were not enthused with my mission. I had to lobby them for the addresses of my relatives. I had always thought parents were supposed to make life easier for their children. I was angry that my parents mostly made my life harder anytime I sought their assistance. Turned out my parents had an incomplete list of my relative’s addresses. However, my grandmother and aunt were able to supply the missing addresses. After many revisions, I developed an introductory letter that felt worthy of being sent to my relatives. Feeling both excited and apprehensive, I sent the letters. Then I did the only thing I could do; I waited. Given my family’s legacy and track record around relationships, I knew I would not hear from every relative I contacted. I also realized they may need time to compose a response. However, to my great disappointment, I only received 1 letter. This solitary response was from the wife of one of my father’s brothers. She too must have been a Jane Austen girl. She had the civility, thoughtfulness, and kindness to respond back to my request to connect and be family. She thanked me for contacting them and stated she was delighted to receive my letter. She thanked me for the introduction and invitation to be family. She stated my uncle decided to decline my invitation. She wrote she was sorry and had hoped he would have accepted however, it was not to be at this time. She wished me well. I stained her letter with my falling tears. My heart hurt, and I felt totally defeated and rejected. I was, though. not surprised. I knew this mission might fail. I was just so sad it had ended in failure. I did write her a thank you note - after all what would Ms. Austen do - right?

This mission took a LOT of courage on my part, but they appeared to not even consider how I would feel after being rejected by them. These people who did not even know me were rejecting me. They did not even want to try to be family and see what happened. Outside of this aunt, not one person had the decency to send some type of response. I concluded this mission proved I was isolated. Only this aunt,(my uncle’s wife), my maternal aunt, and my grandmother saw me like family. My whole life all I had wanted was a loving family and loving relatives. I wanted big, rowdy, family holidays. As I held my aunt’s touching rejection letter in my hand, I felt my fairy tale family crash and burn to a very unhappily ever after. Unlike the character Dorothy, in the movie the Wizard of Oz, I would never, ever say “there is no place like home.”  I was hopeful my journey of experiencing family rejection was at an end, however, unfortunately, I would later find, that this particular fairy tale ending had continued. 

I maintained correspondence with my aunt stationed overseas. She retired many years later, and she informed me she had chosen to reside in my town. I was thrilled about her decision. However, after she settled in, the intimacy of proximity appeared to impact her negatively. It became apparent she only wanted to see me when she needed something. I always helped as I was just happy being around her. One day, she asked me to come over and help with a task. I informed her I was not available, however, would come the next day. She agreed. I showed up as planned. She was furious with me. She told me I was a horrible person, who, like everyone else in her family, had refused to help her. She told me I only thought of myself. I attempted to 

calm her down and talk with her about it. She yelled at me to leave. As I exited, she told me never to come back. I was both angry and speechless. So, to address the problem, in my Jane Austen fashion, I wrote her a long letter, discussed our wonderful correspondence relationship, and used bullet points to list all I had done for her since her return to the US. She never responded to my letter. A few months later, I ran into her neighbor. The neighbor asked me, now that my aunt had left Virginia, how did she like living in Colorado? Needless to say, that was news to me. My aunt had never informed me of her plan to move from Virginia or said goodbye.

Upon returning home, once I recovered from the news, I recognized the familiar family trait my aunt had used with me. She had made up a horrible fictitious fairy tale about me, including who she thought I was, and what fictitious grievous thing I had done to her. I knew she would believe this false fairy tale for the rest of her life. Like my other relatives, she found it so simple and easy to abandon me. My response to her ghosting me was to feel the pain of loss, grieve, and move on, without looking back. I never tried to find my aunt. I have no idea if she is alive or dead. I was done with my so-called “family and relatives.” I did not want my aunt back in my life, but I miss the person who I corresponded with for so many, many years. However, I do not miss the person who ghosted me, and I never will.

There is only one more family member's fairy tale to tell. This tale has a “happily ever after ending.” I have left the best for last. I have a younger sister who is 2 years younger than me.  My younger sister is the only family member who chose to have a meaningful relationship with me. Also as important is, that she was the only family member who had noticed I was struggling and there was something wrong with me, after my TBIs. Even more than that, she understood I was a puzzle to be solved, and she actively sought out pieces of my puzzle to help me navigate through life. Consequently, I often refer to her as my younger/older sister.  Love is a choice.