pray. - Blindsided
After my dad died, contact with his family slowly diminished. For many years, the only contact I had with my dad's family were funerals and letters. Mom, my dad's mother-my grandmother, and I were pen pals for nearly fifteen years. Then, one day, our letters to each other ceased to come and go. But, over those fifteen years, we shared secrets and truths and bonded. Words on paper carried our love back and forth.
One day in my twenties, my grandmother called me. She called to inform me about my sister, Katie. I had not heard my grandmother's voice in quite some time, but I knew from the first sound she uttered this wasn't a fun, "how has life been" kind of phone call. Mom had called to inform me of Katie's passing.
Katie and I had not seen each other since my nephew's passing. Yes, Katie had a son around the time my mom birthed my sister, Paige. Katie and I were, well are, the daughters of David. David was my mother's second husband. Mom is David's mother. (In case, you needed to put together the family tree.) Anyway, Katie was fifteen or sixteen, I think when Isaiah was born. Isaiah was attacked by a pit bull. He died at a very young age.
When I saw Katie at Isaiah's funeral, it was the first time I had seen her in many, many years. And, though it had been so many years, I knew when Isaiah died, she died along with him. I saw it in her eyes at the funeral home. She had loved and lost too many times, and this time it killed her from the inside. At his funeral, we hugged. We cried. We promised to do better at keeping in touch. But, I never saw her again after the funeral.
So, when my grandmother shared the news of Katie's passing, I didn't cry. I really had no emotions to express. I hadn't seen my sister or spoken to her since her son's funeral. It had to have been around five years-the timing for me isn't exactly clear. She had been in rehab for drug addiction. Essentially, the effects of her addiction are what killed her.
My mom, my grandmother (my mother's mom), and longtime family friend, Adam, went to Katie's funeral with me. The morning of the funeral was like any other morning. Still no emotions. Still no tears had been shed.
We arrived at the church. My mom asked if I wanted to go in and sign the guestbook. I obliged. The moment I stepped into that church every repressed emotion and every ounce of guilt weighing on my heart exploded. My emotions tackled my blindside. I started sobbing-uncontrollably. It was one of those sobs that make it hard to breathe. I couldn't catch my breath. I couldn't write my name in the guestbook. All I could do was run for the door. I could not stop it. People, strangers, were staring at me. No one knew why I was sobbing so much. No one knew I was her sister.
After the service, my mother and I went to visit Mom at her house. My Aunt Liz and Aunt Lynn were there with their kids-my cousins whom I really had never spent time with. Mom was telling stories about Katie as a child and our summer visits with her during vacation bible school. I distinctly remember Mom telling a story about a beach trip and making the statement, "I had invited all of the grandchildren to the beach." And, I remember my heart breaking a little because I had not gotten an invitation to the beach for that trip. And, though I knew Mom was just telling a story and had no intention of hurting my feelings, I held onto that sentence and the pain it caused for many years in my twenties.
Throughout my twenties, I longed to know my dad. I longed to know my sister, Katie. I longed to know my Alley family. I felt like there were pieces of me I didn't understand because I didn't truly understand my roots. But, truth be told, even if the opportunity to reconnect with them had truly presented itself because I think it may have at some point, I wasn't ready. I was still mourning.
Saturday morning, I surprised my Alley family with a visit to Mom's book signing. I didn't tell them I was coming because I wasn't sure I was. Driving into those Georgia mountains stir up all sorts of discombobulated feelings and heart strong memories. My palms get sweaty. My heart beats faster. And, the waterworks turn on for no other explanation than I'm still healing. But, I am so proud of myself for sucking it up, for breathing, and for entering that book signing amongst every aunt, uncle, cousin, and family friend-most of who I hadn't seen since the last family funeral years and years ago.
This time, I saw them on my terms. On terms of celebrating a beautiful life. On terms of celebrating Mom's dream of being a published poet. On terms of representing David Alley. David may have lost his way in life at one point in time, but he helped create me, and I am his daughter. I am an Alley.
One day in my twenties, my grandmother called me. She called to inform me about my sister, Katie. I had not heard my grandmother's voice in quite some time, but I knew from the first sound she uttered this wasn't a fun, "how has life been" kind of phone call. Mom had called to inform me of Katie's passing.
When I saw Katie at Isaiah's funeral, it was the first time I had seen her in many, many years. And, though it had been so many years, I knew when Isaiah died, she died along with him. I saw it in her eyes at the funeral home. She had loved and lost too many times, and this time it killed her from the inside. At his funeral, we hugged. We cried. We promised to do better at keeping in touch. But, I never saw her again after the funeral.
So, when my grandmother shared the news of Katie's passing, I didn't cry. I really had no emotions to express. I hadn't seen my sister or spoken to her since her son's funeral. It had to have been around five years-the timing for me isn't exactly clear. She had been in rehab for drug addiction. Essentially, the effects of her addiction are what killed her.
My mom, my grandmother (my mother's mom), and longtime family friend, Adam, went to Katie's funeral with me. The morning of the funeral was like any other morning. Still no emotions. Still no tears had been shed.
We arrived at the church. My mom asked if I wanted to go in and sign the guestbook. I obliged. The moment I stepped into that church every repressed emotion and every ounce of guilt weighing on my heart exploded. My emotions tackled my blindside. I started sobbing-uncontrollably. It was one of those sobs that make it hard to breathe. I couldn't catch my breath. I couldn't write my name in the guestbook. All I could do was run for the door. I could not stop it. People, strangers, were staring at me. No one knew why I was sobbing so much. No one knew I was her sister.
After the service, my mother and I went to visit Mom at her house. My Aunt Liz and Aunt Lynn were there with their kids-my cousins whom I really had never spent time with. Mom was telling stories about Katie as a child and our summer visits with her during vacation bible school. I distinctly remember Mom telling a story about a beach trip and making the statement, "I had invited all of the grandchildren to the beach." And, I remember my heart breaking a little because I had not gotten an invitation to the beach for that trip. And, though I knew Mom was just telling a story and had no intention of hurting my feelings, I held onto that sentence and the pain it caused for many years in my twenties.
Throughout my twenties, I longed to know my dad. I longed to know my sister, Katie. I longed to know my Alley family. I felt like there were pieces of me I didn't understand because I didn't truly understand my roots. But, truth be told, even if the opportunity to reconnect with them had truly presented itself because I think it may have at some point, I wasn't ready. I was still mourning.
Saturday morning, I surprised my Alley family with a visit to Mom's book signing. I didn't tell them I was coming because I wasn't sure I was. Driving into those Georgia mountains stir up all sorts of discombobulated feelings and heart strong memories. My palms get sweaty. My heart beats faster. And, the waterworks turn on for no other explanation than I'm still healing. But, I am so proud of myself for sucking it up, for breathing, and for entering that book signing amongst every aunt, uncle, cousin, and family friend-most of who I hadn't seen since the last family funeral years and years ago.
This time, I saw them on my terms. On terms of celebrating a beautiful life. On terms of celebrating Mom's dream of being a published poet. On terms of representing David Alley. David may have lost his way in life at one point in time, but he helped create me, and I am his daughter. I am an Alley.
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| Mom |
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Mom and me
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