Mourning the Lost

About a month ago, my phone rang. Not an unusual occurrence in and of itself, but the caller was unusual—it was my sister.  The same sister who lied to the courts, who filed false police reports.  The same sister who was the driving force behind a painful (and expensive) frivolous and entirely fabricated civil lawsuit.  Needless to say, I let it go to voicemail.  Couldn’t even bring myself to listen to it.  Alex listened to it—supposedly my mother was in renal failure.  Ok.  What’s new?  I figured it was just a ploy for attention.  

Then, two weeks ago, I get a text.  Informing me mom died.  Yes. A text.  No voicemail.  No card.  No info on services.  Just a text. A sterile, four word line, “mom passed last night”.  When I spoke to my dad that weekend, I mentioned the little kernel of news, trying to feel him out, to ascertain if he’d heard anything.  Nope.  He was shocked.  I thought, well, maybe another cruel hoax.  Then a week later, another text, this time to both me and Alex.  Same message.   I mean, seriously? She has not called, texted, emailed, written, or sent smoke signals in two years.  No news of of any kind, no word of hospitalizations, address, surgeries, state of mind.  Then, boom—a texted death announcement.  I didn’t know what to think.  Or believe.  I heard nothing else from anyone.  Called the nursing home.  Nothing. Checked FaceBook.  Googled for funeral home announcements and obituaries in the general vicinity of her last known address.  Again, I drew a blank.   

WTF?!?

Now what?   How did I feel?  How should I feel? Was I sad the woman who gave birth to me was dead?  Did I hurt for the ones who said they cared for her?   Was I irritated that less than 30 days prior we’d settled our lawsuit?  Was I angry about the thousands of dollars it had cost ?  

I thought I’d forgiven them all.  I thought I was beyond being hurt anymore.  I thought, foolishly, I was over it, safe, immune, in my little cocoon, my mountain home.  Then this.  Another slap in the face, another reminder of the depth of the dysfunction of our family.    Just when I thought it was safe to go back in the water.  (Don’t worry.  No shark metaphors). 

The enormity of it all, the sheer finality of the death of my mother, the societal expectations of how I should feel at the revelation of this news—it hit me like a ton of bricks.  And keeps hitting me like some crazed game of out-of-control Tetris.   How do I mourn the loss of a relationship I never had?   If you’ve followed this journey with me at all, you already know my life was anything but normal.  This isn’t about that though; it’s not a cry for sympathy.   I’m just trying to figure out how I’m supposed to feel.  To react.  To move on.  I want to scream at my sisters, to ask them Why?   To make them say they were wrong and to beg my forgiveness.  

After nearly three years of no real communication.  A text.  

I realize I haven’t forgiven them.  I haven’t moved on.  Yeah I’ve learned a lot about me and I’m growing, I’ve healed some of the hurts, and many of the scars are fading.  But some still have scabs, and bleed when the scab is bumped.  

Human forgiveness, unlike divine redemption, is not a one time, over and done event. It’s a process.  A process of healing.  And bleeding.  And scarring.  

And healing.   

Lots and lots of healing