Saturday, February 18

The Opposite of Dancing


Context, for those who might not know: My parents are divorcing.

Because of the unseasonably warm weather this winter, I had hoped that I would escape my usual February doldrums. Not so. 

I invited Mom down for her birthday, primarily because I thought I needed to be fair since I had invited Dad for his. My sister said I was crazy, and I know she’s right. I just hate the idea of being estranged from my family; primarily because I don’t think it is “nice.” “Nice” is such a stupid, insipid idea. I guess I think that maintaining a tie with my family is more than nice… it is stability, loyalty, sense of place. Yet the visit with my mom left me bereft.

I guess that I have always been trying to make Mom and Dad what I need them to be; a real picture of a mom and dad; whatever that means. But they aren’t what I need. Unless what I need is something to rise above. 

When she left, I felt such a sense of emptiness, an infinite sadness. Futility. My great fear is that I have spent my entire life trying to be a peacemaker and healer of my parents’ relationship, costing myself my own ideas for adulthood, my own plan for a life. (Not that I had any great plans of my own...) My sister, who feels less beholden to them, has built a “real” life for herself; married, kids in the house. Sometimes I feel that my life was like that of a second child born to donate organs to a chronically or terminally ill older sibling, except the illness in this case is an illness of soul on the part of my parents. Sick and dysfunctional, I know.

So, now it feels that not only have I not succeeded in healing my parents, I have no life that is my own.

When she left town, I did not call anyone to talk. There is nothing left to say. There is nothing left but the sense of futility and emptiness. The only thing would suit is a long cry and a cuddle.
 
“I wish that I could just lay my head in your lap and cry for awhile.” But even that is denied me. As I knew it would be. And this right before Valentine’s Day. Of course.

To extend to myself a greater bit of grace, I could say that my adult life has been not a seeking of healing and peace for my parents, but a seeking of healing and peace for myself. It feels to me as if I spent my 20s trying to get my life quiet; that I have always been seeking peace. But my more honest friends have told me that I spent quite a bit of my 20s seeking fun. (Yet I find peace in fun and communion with friends.) 

It is said that Jean Vanier (a spiritual mentor to Henri Nouwen) once gave this blessing:
“May all your expectations be frustrated.
May all your plans be thwarted.
May all your desires be withered into nothingness
That you may experience the powerlessness and poverty of a child and sing and dance in the love of God the Father, the Son and the Spirit.”

But I am not singing, and I am not dancing. I am heartsick.
Maybe Lent will bring the cure.

3 comments:

  1. Oh, friend... my heart feels yours... it really, really does.

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  2. "Sometimes I feel that my life was like that of a second child born to donate organs to a chronically or terminally ill older sibling, except the illness in this case is an illness of soul on the part of my parents. Sick and dysfunctional, I know."

    Nyleen, this doesn't seem sick and dysfunctional to me. At least, that is, not on your part. It does, however, sound that way on the part of your parents. Let's be honest. Many humans have progeny to fill an emptiness in their soul. Your statement seems perceptive, not ill. While you may be coming late to the differentiation dance, your emptiness is that very differentiation. It is the beginning of Nyleen. Make no mistake, though. It is not the end of you. It seems to me that this is, perhaps, where you've made your mistake... to assume you've lived your life and this is your end, and what's more, you've linked it to your ontology. Truth be told, it is just the beginning.

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