My stepmother's passing last week creates an obvious image of letting go, particularly letting go of expectations that certain relationships would be any different than they have been in the past. I've been releasing that mightily stubborn chokehold I've had on expecting people to be the way I want them to be. And the equally powerful dumb insistence that next time, things will be different.
My stepmother and I didn't get along for 30 years, and while I don't want to go into details, I will admit that I brought my share of problems to the table. However, by the time we last spoke, we were cordial, and I'd like to leave (let go) my feelings with that thought.
Her passing has affected me much more than I thought it would. I've been grieving, and that has confused me. After all, my stepmother inelegantly broke up her marriage to my father. Dealing with her was always like walking blindfolded on hot shards of glass.
At her funeral,her son, stepson and son- in- law spoke about her life, her childhood in Germany during WWII, living in a house that had been bombed, running to the caves fduring bombing raids, coming to the USA as a war bride, not knowing the language. Later in life, she was widowed and had to hold her family together. And then there were the years that she was married to my father.
Listening to the eulogies made me think about her as an individual, a regular person, with a life filled with challenges and joys. In those minutes and with those words, she ceased being the "my stepmother" person, and became someone with whom I could empathize and respect. More importantly, I felt that I could understand her in a way that I hadn't.
For the last few weeks, I haven't remembered any of my dreams, and I came back to school feeling tired. When colleagues have offered condolences, I've been quick to point out that she and I weren't close. In retrospect, I think that my reaction had more to do with understanding that she was gone.
In those days before her funeral, I had trouble remembering anything that didn't involve some kind of conflict. I wondered if I should even be going to the funeral. We went out of respect for the family, and until the service, I could not think of any happy memories that we had shared.
Afterwards, as we drove home, I began to work my way through the feelings, and I'm still doing it. I am remembering my dreams , and my memory has been pushing forward both the good as well as the bad and indifferent.
What have I gained, from this relationship? What have I learned about life? I regret that she and I could not have been better friends. I've learned to mother myself, which has been hard. I've learned how strong I am, beneath too many layers of anxiety. I've learned that accepting people doesn't mean that they will change into my vision of them.
And I continue to learn. I'm releasing a dream that never was palpable. And that's okay.
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