Sorry I didn’t post more yesterday. It was just an emotional rollercoaster and I wasn’t up for trying to make anything of it. I had two long tearful conversations with my mom and a long, hilarious conversation with the Butcher, all about Mom’s new, bigger family.
The thing that the Butcher and I were laughing about is that, when we were younger, my mom went up to a woman in a Dairy Queen in Springfield, Illinois and asked that woman if she was her cousin. Twenty-five years we’ve been teasing my mom about going up to random strangers and asking if they’re related to her. But seeing where the Corcorans lived and where my mom’s family lived, now it’s like, well, shoot, of all the people in the world who apparently could have been asking random strangers if they were her cousin and gotten a yes, Mom was it.
My mom was all “I should call her” and I said, “It’s okay to wait, Mom. How you’re feeling–finding out that there’s a whole part of the family who lived near you and who was kept from you–that’s how she’s feeling, too. Talk to Grandma about it, talk to your sisters. Give yourself a little time to get used to it.”
I think the thing that’s hard to deal with is that something clearly went very wrong for Marie and how much of it was her husband’s family (sounds like a lot) and how much of it was being trapped between a rock and a hard place (sounds like some) and how much of it was her own fucked up family situation (sounds like some) is hard to say. And yet, there’s that human tendency to want to assign blame–to dole out responsibility for who did what wrong when.
And I think that my mom is a little afraid, too, that her dad or her uncles might be to blame in some way for some of this.
I hope, though, honestly, that we can just let it be a good thing, that we can meet each other figuring that we’re not betraying any dead folks by leaving undone the things they undid, but picking up the threads again later, and tying our own new knots.