The thing is, I'm unhappy with my blood relatives on the paternal side. All two of them. Whether my being unhappy with them is entirely fair ... well, I don't know. I can see both sides, I think, and see where I may not have held up my end of the communication with either party. But I have tried. Certainly, I make an effort to write my aunt emails asking about the events of her life whenever I hear from her (to which she never responds). I wrote her a long letter (sent snail mail, even) a month or so ago. (Granted, it had been quite a while since I'd done that, even though I know that's the format she's most comfortable with.) But the thing is this. Even given my shortcomings of communication, I don't feel that either one of them is willing to meet me halfway. I am sad about the loss of relationship with my aunt, as she was one of the people in my life whose respect I most wanted to earn.
The situation with my father is more complicated, both because of my distaste for the life he's chosen and because of his distaste for mine! I felt sad for him as he described the state of the house he'd come home to. I can imagine it readily, and the contrast between the mess and confrontation he must be surrounded by and the color and twinkling lights and warmth I am is pitiful. What makes it worse is that he chose the surroundings he's in. He could have had a part in mine, but he refused to accept my choices, to get to know my husband, to appreciate our children. Instead, he chose to keep his child in the home of a deteriorating alcoholic. Again.
My biggest surprise of the evening came really in how little I care. I feel sympathy for my father. I feel annoyance and dread that Nina has found my phone number. But mostly, I just want everything to go back to the way it was 6 hours ago when they had their lives, I had mine, and the twain met only in emailed photos.
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