10 years later

Over the last decade, a lot of things have changed. On an international level, some predictions from 'The Simpsons' came true, we faced a global pandemic, and we are currently rooting for the world's best female gymnast have the most amazing comeback after championing for herself and her mental health a short four years ago. Personally, my family laid my mother and grandpop to rest, my sweet little boy is now a smelly (albeit even sweeter) teenager, and I've met some of the most wonderful people in my life. My goddaughter was born. I adopted two cats and a dog. We moved into a house that I purchased. The job I once worked because I thought it was the only thing I could do has turned into a blossoming career. I've become a Reiki master and started my own business. Yes, the last 10 years have been pretty amazing to me when looking at the big picture.

Then why did a Facebook memory from 10 years ago send me reeling yesterday? What could be so Earth-shaking that it brought me to tears? Was it a big moment? A loss? Some huge milestone?

In some variation of each of those, yes. The memory was a photo from the last time my sister and I were out in public together. At the time, I didn't know it would be our last outing, nor did I even bother to take a photo of us. It is a simple picture of our drinks and a brief comment about having some quality time together. It was a random Wednesday and we had taken Kiddo out for burgers because my parents had annoyed me for the 37th time that week. My sister was counseling me on how to keep my cool while Kiddo happily colored on his menu and challenged us to some very intense rounds of Tic-Tac-Toe. In the most mundane of memories lies a huge loss that I rarely talk about because it is still a little taboo to discuss the loss of a living person.

There are often assumptions made about estrangements in families-- who was in the wrong, what drama must have unfolded, why someone leaves and the others continue on without them like nothing happened. I can assure you, most of those judgements are unfair. Real life can be way more complicated than any of us bargain for.

Yes, my sister is still alive. Yes, I hold a lot of love for her and still wish her well. Yes, Kiddo and I speak of her with joy when we share memories, though to be honest, his are fewer and fewer with each passing year. A decade is two-thirds of his life at this point. He's lived way more without his godmother than with her.

Estrangement can happen for any number of reasons and I firmly believe it is typically for the benefit of at least one of the parties. I don't see this particular case that way, but I respect my sister's autonomy and privacy enough to know that cutting all ties and ending our relationship was what she needed. If the time ever comes when it is no longer what she needs, I would absolutely welcome her back and tell her all of the things I wish I had said a decade ago.

Anyone who knows me knows I put a lot of effort into my own mental health and that I am constantly striving to sympathize and support emotional wellness for others. So intellectually, I am completely supportive of my sister cutting out people she does not want to have a relationship with-- nothing is more important than her ability to feel safe in her little corner of the world. That doesn't negate the fact that it comes at a cost for me, though. By respecting her wishes, I have broken my own heart. I miss the person who I expected to be my built-in bestie for life and there's not a day that goes by that I don't think of her.

It has taken a long time and several therapy hours (thanks, Mr. Therapist) to be able to hold space for both of those truths. For years, I was so angered by her choices and decisions. It felt apparent that she had chosen wrong. My need for structure and control in my life did not tolerate this deviation from the obvious plan. The fact that I can't control everything, or really anything besides my own behavior, is a lesson I've learned in spades this lifetime.

Where I seem to get hung up is my incessant need to feel in control about the things and people I care about. That's the thing about control though-- it isn't love. When we truly love something or someone, the last thing we can or should do is control them. I've been working hard to break that thought process and only recently have really made progress.

Love and control are opposites. Glennon Doyle has spoken way more eloquently on this than I could ever hope to do. If you are interested in really digging into that, I'm sure a quick Google search will give you a ton of links to her thoughts on this. I highly recommend you investigate it, especially if anything I'm sharing here is resonating.

So in the spirit of letting go of that which I cannot control, I am choosing love instead. I cherish the memories we made, send good energy her way, and speak wellness into existence for her. When Kiddo asks me about something from my childhood, I share her silly antics and jovial spirit. And when a Facebook memory pops up 10 years later, I give myself space to cry because it wouldn't hurt if there hadn't once been love and appreciation. In all of these ways, I choose to love-- and grieve-- someone who is very much alive, though not in my life for the last 10 years.