NAVEL GAZING: excessive absorption in self-analysis or focus on a single issue

Rift Resolution

When Nanny passed, Dad eloquently eulogized her life, praising his mom for her strength, determination, and commitment—praise she well deserved. Although not his intent, it felt as though he spoke directly to me, and highlighted a lack of those same characteristics in my own recent actions.

As I sat there listening to him speak, I kept replaying our earlier conversation where he relayed Mom's wishes that I refrain from participating in communion because of my "not being in the state of grace," a reference to living with Nina before the finalization of the divorce from Samantha.

The stress of the situation, having Samantha, Nina, my children, and most of our entire family together for the service, and the intense feelings of being judged, kept me in my seat instead of taking my turn at the pulpit to honor Nanny, who died just shy of her 97th birthday. At the time, such judgments only added to my ambivalent feelings toward religion and caused me to question our professed family loyalty.

The breakup of my marriage was counterintuitive to my parents' hard-earned life lessons and the example they provided. Regardless of my separated status, being involved in a new relationship so soon made it hard for them to embrace. It hurt them, as if I had poured salt into their open-wounded pride.

My changed standing and how I chose to exercise it proved to be a harsh test of our family bond. My love for Nina and our relationship was doomed from the start, and not from their lack of support, although it hurt not to have. I willfully ignored reality—old habits die hard, and in the end, I see it for what it was: a dodged bullet. Still, that didn't absolve them for their reaction, although given the family history, it should not have been unexpected.

My Father tried to reassure, telling me to give it time. "We just need time," he would say. But everything was falling apart around me. My time was seemingly spent reacting to fires erupting on all fronts. I tried to see things from their point of view and to be sensitive to their feelings, to remember that Samantha had also been a part of their lives.

Perhaps hypocritical, and likely seen as well-deserved, nevertheless, it was heart-wrenching to experience the actions that made me feel rejected by the family I love. The pinnacle, words spoken to me by my Mom, "...I'm disappointed in you as a man," and although it wounded me to hear, it had to have hurt her more, to say.

I was angry with the family that from my distorted perspective I had always shown allegiance. What of our revered family loyalty sermonized to us our entire lives? I felt diminished, as if the whole of my character was now replaced with this sad, besmirched substitution. As though my position in the family enjoyed all the years prior was only a revocable privilege, contingent on living a version that they had grown accustomed to.

[I felt betrayed.]

Did they think it was easy for me, as if I could effortlessly dismiss the notion of family that had been drilled into my head since childhood, and the overwhelming sense of guilt felt over the disloyalty of my actions?

Those same thoughts fueled the delusion that was my marriage and made it difficult to communicate,  truthfully, about the relationship.

What about my needs and the years of discontent? I know my parents sacrificed for us, but throughout it all, they had each other. Couldn't they understand how long I had suffered with loneliness? I wasn't the first to divorce in my family, so why did my situation seem so much more hurtful to them? Did they imagine I would forsake my children, being content playing the role of a part-time father, or worse, abandon them, as my unknown Grandfather had years before? Couldn't they see I wanted more for them as well? Where was their faith in me, and most maddening, why did it hurt so much what they thought?

Many questions have gone unanswered, some probably better off not asked, and although the hurt can still sneak up unexpectedly around my family, especially if I believe my considerations are being undervalued, the strength of those feelings has subsided.

Even when not their intent, I realized I let others' perceived judgment, most notably my mom's, keep me from pursuing what was wanted. It also created an impossible standard to live up to, and within the context of a mother/son relationship, I wasn't being a man; just a boy trying to be good for his mom.

There's no doubt, in comparison to their childhoods, my four siblings and I were raised in relative lives of privilege—a debt owed to our parents that should allow us to forgive each other for the occasional flare-up or unresolved conflict that remains from our youth.

Those experiences endured by my parents in their early lives—a daughter given up by her mother, a son abandoned by his father, and an unbridgeable distance formed between two siblings—all served to strengthen the mettle of their resolve as they strived to form an unbreakable bond. I don't know what a perfect relationship would look like, but I know that my parents' union served as a shining example of a successful one, where for a lifetime they shared their love and an unwavering commitment to each other.
The family bond they created remains united.

I spoke at my parents' 60th-anniversary celebration and wanted to make clear to them how much they are loved. I get nervous when speaking in public and can easily become emotional. While speaking, my focus traveled from each parent to my own children. "In reflection," I told them, "being a parent allowed me to see my own parents differently."

I attempted to convey what it's like to be a parent: the second-guessing, trials and errors; just wanting to do your best, and have them do their best—a composition of successes and failures, but throughout it all, always love....

"...when you're a parent, you wish your kids to know of the endless reserve that exists for them, and that love is always present, even during those times when it does not seem certain."

In its conclusion, as I struggled to keep my composure, I was able to get out the words that were directed at my parents:

"I see you...I really see you."

Hopefully they understood the equal measure of love, reverence, and forgiveness, that I attempted to express within that simple statement. And, perhaps, hopefully, a message received by my own children:
A wish to be understood. No necessity for their agreement, just acceptance, and to be seen in entirety, for all that I am.