Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Belonging

I have been back over a week, and I've been slow to write because things are, well, just great and comfortable. I can find a thousand words, a million metaphors for depression, longing, sadness, and feeling broken. Happiness and peace are harder to construct poetically. It seems so Disney and unfamiliar to me.

I could sum up the weekend I spent with my family with three marvelous sentences uttered by my uncle, as we were all waiting to be seated in a busy restaurant. Apparently we had missed a spot at our six-person table and had to squeeze into a booth. The host apologized, and my uncle said, "Don't worry; it's okay. We're family." I looked around at everyone, and it was true. I looked like everyone present, I was one of them, I was welcome, and I belonged. I sat between my two cousins and chatted away, enjoying stories about my grandparents and my mother and uncle. It was normal. I wasn't made to feel awkward, and I didn't feel awkward.

I didn't cry at all, except when I was with my friend Lori, at lunch, and she told the story of giving up her son (that always makes me cry). If you know me IRL, this absence of lachrymose behavior will seem unbelievable. I cry at the drop of a hat, even on my medications, so I must have felt protected. I am usually ill-at-ease in new environments and try to melt unremarked into the background, but that didn't happen.

C and I spent Sunday night at my uncle's house. We enjoyed a delicious dinner prepared by my aunt (she is a spectacular cook), and then looked at treasures and booty my grandfather had brought back from Germany after WWII. Our conversation flowed over the evening; I was able to ask questions, and I enjoyed gathering layers of information that told me about different family members: great-grandparents, grandparents, etc. I really wish I could have met my grandfather. Everyone says he would have loved me, and it sounds like his temperament was very similar to mine. Maybe in some small way, I form part of his legacy, and I can feel good about that. I certainly look like him.

Leaving to return to California was very difficult, but we all have plans to meet up again this summer. My family has pledged to get to know Mark and the kids, and not to let me go again. I trust them, and they are showing in all kinds of ways that they mean what they say. As you know, trust and loyalty are important concerns of mine, so this is huge.

As my uncle and aunt and mother said, our weekend together marks a beginning, not an end. The hard part is finished, at last. Certainly, there will be bumps and bruises and hurt feelings, but we are committed to pursuing our relationships and making time for one another. I have more people to love, and who love me. I never thought belonging would happen like this, or feel so good.

As Joy said, it's not all that surprising. I am a warm, loving, kind, generous person. What kind of family did I think I came from?

Finally, finally, I am at peace inside myself. That is the most amazing gift of all.

7 comments:

Julie Stromberg said...

Been waiting for this post. I can feel the restlessness easing with your words. The first moments I spent with my paternal family felt so much the same way. Natural. As it should be. So incredibly happy for you.

Two Halves Whole said...

I was having a pretty rough day today...well, that is, until right now. Reading your post completely turned my day around and made me smile wholeheartedly. Thank you for sharing this...I'm so happy for you!! xx

Jenn said...

This is amazing! I'm so happy and excited for you :-)

Rebecca Hawkes said...

I love your second paragraph. I had a similar experience at a restaurant this summer in CA, where I was attending a family wedding. I was just sitting in a restaurant with my first mom, my aunt, and a cousin, and I was suddenly struck by how comfortable and happy I was! I'm 15 years into my reunion. The feeling hasn't worn off. :-)
Happy for you!

Von said...

So very, very happy for you Mrs M!!!!!!!

elizabeth said...

I'm so happy for you! You so deserve this.

xoxo

Trish said...

You may not have cried, but I did reading that. A cry of release, joy, and amazement for you, friend. A beginning, indeed.