Family, brothers and sisters, not like it used to be. Do people hold family reunions anymore, where at least 100 people show up? I remember going to one as a child. So many strangers and my mother paraded me around as if I wee her trophy child. Now, at 50, I wish I could go to a family reunion like that. Oh, I have lots of family photos dating back to civil war; handwritten letters from family hopping trains rushing for Calif. and gold. And I have a wonderful family book of stories going back to when we had a castle in Switzerland. Now… exploring family history is for people retired, who decide to try and piece heir lives together before they die.
But this post will focus on a more current family issue: divorce. Divorce was once very rare, today it seems to be more the rule than exception.
My sperm donor left my mother with a newborn (me) and 2 boys, ages 7 & 8.
My oldest brother (I’ll call him Mark) married when he was about 20. He had a son (I’ll call him Jeff). Mark was always the favored child, favored particularly by my 100 year old great aunt Vi. She owned the large two stories, three apartments, home that we all grew up in. Aunt Vi would buy us food, toys, clothes, whatever she thought we needed. Aunt Vi was the youngest sister of my mother’s mother. My grandmother died when my mom was only 15, Aunt Vi was 21 and took my mother under her wing.
Aunt Vi’s way of showing love was to feed. She fed Mark until he became very large. Our mother was stressed over working, and being dumped by her husband; she was not much of a cook. Aunt Vi lived with her longtime companion and companion’s very religious mother. All loved to cook and bake and there was always good eats upstairs. Middle brother (I’ll call him Bobby) was ignored and so weight was never a problem for him. I, being the cute little girl, was spoiled into foodafacation as well.
After Mark married, he ballooned into a huge size. Funny, all through my childhood he hassled me about my being too fat—self hatred, obvious to me even then and a part of me felt sorry for him. When he turned 18 and had to find a lover, he lost weight; gained it back after being married a year. Bobby was an athlete in school, had no problem getting girls. Mark and Bobby got along great. I never remember them fighting.
One night my mother got a frantic, sobbing call from Mark’s wife. He had left. Mom and I jumped in the car and drove past all his friend’s homes. Mom finally found him and he said he was not going back. He said he didn’t want to be married.
And so he divorced his young wife, wanted nothing to do with his son (who looked JUST like him and Aunt Vi began Jeff’s spoiling early, making him fat and every time my brother looked at him, yep, self-hate. I had many arguments with aunt over this, but she was and remains in denial.
Meanwhile, the rich lady who owned the large house next door to Aunt Vi’s felt sorry for my mom, so she sold her house with some very expensive furniture, THREE car garage, EXTRA lot, to my mom for a small amount.
Vietnam rolled on, the lottery draft televised on TV, Mark had an exemption because he was born with club feet, Bobby’s number was called. He joined the Marines. His days of having one girl slip out the back through his convenient bedroom door, while another one (who would become his wife when the war ended) came in the front door were over.
Bobby’s wife was thin and blonde. Mark once lamented, “Why can’t I find a woman like that?” Aunt Vi and my mom kept up visits and phone calls to Mark’s ex-wife and their darling Jeff. Mark avoided both, but aunt and mom wouldn’t let up. Aunt Vi would pick up Jeff and guilt Mark into coming over. She made that part easy by renting one of her apts. to Mark, this allowed her to feed him, clean his apt. and do all his laundry. My hatred for Mark grew as the older he and our aunt got. Mark still undermined me any chance he got.
Well, my best friend, (I’ll call her Gudrun-German name) was thin, blond, and ready to leave her husband. She had gotten pregnant at 17 and though they tried to make it work—it didn’t. She felt in danger and wanted out right away. I was living in the upstairs apt. of my mom’s house and ready to move away. There was nothing for me in Indiana and I had found the love of my life (we are still together 29 years later) in Michigan; so, I offered my apt. to Gudrun and her thin, blond, son. (I’ll call him Tim) She happily accepted.
That was the last I heard from her for several years. She did not show up to help me pack. She did not show up or call to say good-bye. My mom would tell me that Gudrun moved in with her son and husband. That lasted less than a year. My brother, Mark, fell for Gudrun and moved in with her and Tim. There went one of the obtuse defenses aunt gave for Mark’s treatment of Jeff---“He is just too young to be a good father.”
Of course, aunt and mom were furious over the development. Suddenly, Mark was a wonderful, loving, father to Tim. Meanwhile Jeff and his mother were living in low-income projects. Now, Mark probably thought he had really pulled a fast one. His dream finally come true. (Here is where I can NOT contain my laughter) Little Tim asked if he could have a play date with a friend he LOVED from daycare. “Sure,” said Gurun.
The friend was JEFF! Jeff and Tim, 2 years apart were in the same daycare! Well, the boys became “brothers,” with Tim calling my brother-Dad and Jeff calling him-Mark. Remains so to this day.
Strangely, Gudrun, Mark, and Tim, moved to another small town in Indiana.
Then, after Mark got his college degree and a good job offer—off to New York they went. Mark advanced in the company. They had a new house built on a lake. Eventually, Mark rode the internet wave to Silicon Valley. His wife got a job selling office supplies to all the start-ups. Their son, Tim, got a college education. Life was good.
Meanwhile, Jeff’s mother remarried (several times), Jeff, so says Aunt Vi, had to have a bedroom in a damp basement, was beaten by one of the husbands and basically got into some trouble in school. By now I was living in Seattle, WA, and the only news I got about any of them was from my mom and Aunt Vi. Apparently, with the support of Tim wanting to have his “brother” around and with Jeff’s mom’s appeals to Aunt Vi, Jeff lived with his father in NY, where he graduated from high school. And again briefly, in Silicon Valley. All such “visits” seemed to end on a sour note, but I never was told what happened. By now I had MS, ovarian cancer, and perhaps they didn’t want to bother me.
Somewhere around 2000, my brother retired. He and Gudrun bought an RV and explored the USA, ending up outside Vegas, where my brother could spend his days playing cards and eating at the buffets. Out of the blue I get a card from Gudrun. 25 years, not a word. She gives me her email address. We start emailing. This was right before they headed for Vegas. Low and Behold, her son, Tim, has moved to Seattle where his girlfriend is going to attend the University of Washington. What a coincidence. The first time Gudrun SPOKE to me was when Seattle had an earthquake and “Have you heard from Tim?”
Then I get a call from my mom, “Tim has invited Jeff to stay with him in Seattle! Can you find a job for him?” I met Jeff and Tim after 26 years when they stepped around my cubicle wall at my city job---it was like time travel. They were little boys then I blinked and they were men. It was surreal. Tim and his girl were dressed very preppie and Jeff had on shorts with a tattoo running almost the length of his leg. (And I had spoken to my boss about getting a job for him.)
Long story short: Jeff abused Tim’s generosity, not looking for a job, playing video games all day, Tim and his girl broke up. Jeff got a good job through a Temp agency, he found a nice apt. where he could walk to work (Aunt Me gave him the deposit, later to discover his father had also); he got a personal trainer and lost about 100lbs. ---he looked great. I held a 30th birthday for him, Tim came, and it was so much fun. I felt like I was not so alone anymore. I always felt close to Tim. Having him near was such a joy, plus I was going to have a relationship with my nephew. I cursed that day when I found out my camera had no film in it! I had a feeling…that we would never all be together again.
The following day I got a call from Tim—did I know where Jeff was? He never showed up at work. Then the calls started from Aunt Vi, where is Jeff!? He’s been kidnapped! “I call his phone and he doesn’t answer, Jeff doesn’t know where he is either.” I thought this was unusual behavior. I would come to find out that THIS was the real Jeff, the one I’d treated to breakfasts out, given my almost new computer to, played chess with, had over for all the holidays, THAT was the Jeff he couldn’t be.
I called his cell phone (that had caller ID): “Hello.”
“Jeff, you wanna meet for breakfast tomorrow?”
“Uh, nah.”
“OK, maybe next week. Where are you?”
“Yeah. Vegas.” Bye. Bye.
End of call. I called Aunt Vi, Jeff is fine. I just spoke to him, so you can stop worrying.”
“WAAAAAAAAAA?? WHERE IS HE?”
“He is 30 yeas old Aunt Vi, he is in Vegas, let it go.” (Didn’t have the heart to tell her that he was avoiding her calls. I did tell Mom, though, and she agreed.)
Then I get call from Mom, VISA contacted Aunt Vi because her card suddenly had a $10,000.00 charge on it. Aunt Vi is now hysterical and CERTAIN someone has a gun to Jeff’s head. (We NOW discover aunt has added Jeff to her VISA)
I call his cell, ave to leave a message, “You little #$%^&! Aunt Vi got a $10,000.00 charge on her VISA. Call her and call Tim. Do you have any idea what you’ve thrown away?”
Next call I get from Mom, the Visa bill is now up to $25,000.00 and rising. Aunt refuses to cancel card, certain his life is in danger.
My brother finally is persuaded by aunt to find Jeff, he finds charges for penthouse suites, prostitutes, and all the fun money can buy in Vegas. After $30,000.00 plus, aunt cancels the card. Bill collectors will hound her for years. My mom begs me to keep him here. Jeff returns to Seattle. Tim refuses to let him stay with him unless he gets a job. I offer to pay a months rent, but ONLY if he apologizes to aunt, pays her back, and becomes a man.
He returns to Indiana. Moves in with a friend. Never pays aunt back one dime. She holds him innocent because she is sure he is sick. The entire Indiana family is furious with him. Aunt insists they treat him kindly. It is big tension in Indiana. My aunt and mom live together in a low rent complex. Jeff is used to spending nights with the, having 90 year old aunt do his laundry, he stops by for her breakfasts and to shower. I hear he stops by to PLAY POKER FOR MONEY with her and I know she can barely see the cards.
His father? He has washed his hands of the whole mess. Tim? He moved back to Calif., after a few years he married a girl he had known from high school. We IM occasionally, but never speak of Jeff. I was furious with lack of assistance given to aunt and mom by Mark and when I informed Gudrun that her husband’s mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, that Aunt Vi fell and his brother and our cousin had to handle the whole situation( along with my long distance involvement trying to convince aunt to move to an asst. living home, advising the cousin who has picked up the slack left by brother, Bobby, contacting relatives I hadn’t spoken to in 40 years) she nonchalantly emails,” That must be hard for them.” That is the LAST contact I expect from her or Mark.
So…how could we have saved Jeff? His father was unable to right his wrong, no incentive. Jeff was included in all the family get-togethers, though other than that he did not visit his cousins (my brother Bobby’s 5 kids). He had a half sister, half brother, and a few step-siblings; but they too did not come from happy families. He had uncles on his mothers side who were always there for him, gave him jobs, but other than that he didn’t speak to me about them much.
How could we have stopped him from becoming his father? We couldn’t stop Aunt Vi. She trumped all our efforts.
My brother Bobby? He never wanted kids, at least not as soon as his wife did. After the 5th child, he and his wife divorced. Nice, rich, aunt Amy, who was always happy to baby-sit on nights when Bobby’s wife (her SISTER-IN-LAW) had to work, and buy the kids gifts, ended up divorcing her husband, marrying my brother, Bobby, after an ugly divorce. Moving into a newly built, large house, not too far from our mom.
The 5 kids? They stopped answering my letters years ago. The oldest daughter once lived in SEATTLE (unbeknownst to me until she was ready to move back to Indiana) TWO BLOCKS fro me! We did get to meet for coffee twice. She asked me to forgive her for not thanking me for her graduation gift. I liked her so much. She sent me an email photo of her baby, Grace, she had, but that was last I’ve heard from her. My mom says she had another baby. I was so close to Bobby’s first wife, but all my cards and letters to her go unanswered. This year I am ending very few cards.
They do not visit their aunt or grandmother. Divorce often throws the baby out with the bath water. Those children have nice aunts and uncles and grandparents who live in nice houses in nice neighborhoods, on their mother’s side of the family. I am lost to them. They do not need a sick aunt 2500 miles away. They do not need a sick grandmother in a little apt., or a 100 year old blind and deaf great-great aunt.
I have been asked a question by a reader who is in a somewhat similar situation, a better situation then mine. My answer may sound simple, but it has worked before and if you are not too late (and if you ARE too late---don’t beat yourself up over it, even Oprah can’t save everyone) it is all about setting a good example. Try to be a teacher of empathy. Tell stories, the importance of family, unconditional love, caring for family. Show how interesting people can be. Tell stories of when YOU were in your twenties and when grandma was. Try to find something grandma and grandson have in common. Enlist his help in gift buying for your mom or singing a song for her, a skit, a drawing, whatever he is interested in. It is very hard not to like people who like us. Maybe you need help that only a strong man in his twenties can help with. Any good stories about your brother in is twenties?
One time my aunt firmly said to me, “Don’t EVER grow up like your mother.” I answered, “I won’t.” I took the best of my mother and left the rest aside. I knew Aunt Vi loved my mom; we never blamed her for how he was. With my nephew, Jeff, I tried to explain why his father did certain things that were hurtful; without venting my personal baggage with my brother. Sadly, sometimes we are just too late or never had the chance; it is then that you have to go into acceptance mode.
