Testing, Testing, Do You Love Me?

The old familiar letdown is there all over again. It doesn't matter that I'm no longer the little sister who tagged along, unwelcome,  in our shared childhood, or the young adult excluded from their conversations. Now a mature women, I am ensconced with a family of my own, and the rejection is as sharp and deep.

I am Charlie Brown, ever eager to place-kick the football that Lucy pulls away at the last moment. Up to the T I march, hopeful and confident of my ability to punt the ball to my teammates, little guessing that those who should be most trusted are the ones least worthy of my faith. Who am I kidding?  I know that it will happen, the ball will elude me, because it always has.  That family team was never mine to claim, I never belonged. The last to join I was "one too many"  for the brother and sister who wished I would not have intruded.

Our kids had wanted to visit Chicago this summer, see their younger cousins a second time and perhaps meet the uncle, aunt and older cousins they had never seen. There were the other draws, too — of seeing a city bigger than San Francisco, reconnecting with their mom's best friends, who are more real to them than most blood relatives, and seeing places they've only heard about through a homesick mother — but they were really excited about the family ties. Who were these older cousins, and what about that Uncle Mike? They are just starting to piece together the jigsaw of their family and these were curiously missing pieces.

The sister/aunt and brother/uncle are very busy, of course. Both have job concerns, time constraints, and the youngest cousins are engaged in non-stop camp activities through the summer. There might be a moment here or there for a face-to-face encounter, a concession of "making ourselves available" but neither was willing, or enthusiastic, about coordinating or committing to it.  The message was unstated but heard very clearly.

"We cannot be bothered to care enough about you to see you, meet your children and spend time with your husband. You don't matter to us, never have;  certainly the family you have created does not matter." I feel this rejection as a profound sorrow and know that it is something I cannot undo. It exists. It is a shadow in my heart.

The people I love the most have always been happy to see me. They are the ones who called every week  during cancer treatment, who still call just to talk. They have seen me through the great times, the dark times, the mundane times without judgement. They love me back. That's it, isn't? They love me back.

A cancer survivor is always looking to the future with a cautious eye. Will there be uninterrupted health for another vacation, another reunion, another celebration? This is precious time and I promise myself I will spend it with the people who want to be with me and my family. No apologies, no regrets. At least, none from me.