What I'm missing

(or what I have?)

Kin.

Next of kin.

Kinship.

These are the makings of the total breakdown I had this week.

To be fair, I’ve just been rattled lately. Anxious. Feeling the “too much” part of myself that tends to show up.

But, the words next of kin shoved me off balance.

You see, when my cousin recently suddenly died, his next of kin had to come and sign off for, I don’t know, the medical examiner? The mortician? Getting into the nitty gritty about death is not where I’m headed with this, although I do have experience with that. But, I found this out and suddenly I was in a tailspin.

Am I my estranged father’s next of kin?

The answer, of course, is: it’s complicated.

The first reason it is complicated is because I haven’t spoken to him in over 12 years, and so I do not know if he’s been remarried or not.

The second reason it is complicated is because I am not his oldest daughter. Except, I sort of am. My sister, who was raised by my father, is not his biological daughter.

But, she was officially adopted by him.

But, he then sued her and denounced her as his daughter.

But not legally … ? Maybe?

As you can see, there is no clear answer here, but I am close to 100 % certain she would not pick up the phone in regards to him, legal or not.

And there I am. The daughter who can’t divorce him, can’t say, well, he’s not my blood, so I feel no obligation. The one who will go for months (years?) without feeling bad and then the guilt slowly seeps in, like smoking winding up a staircase.

I’ve tried to make people father figures in my life. It hasn’t really worked, as you can imagine. Someone to say that they are proud of me without me asking. Someone to say that I’m the light of their lives. Someone to tell me that no matter what happens, it’s all going to be okay. Someone to text me to say, “Thinking about you today.”

(And this is no slight on my stepdad, but he has his own children and didn’t come into my family until I was more than grown, and also just isn’t the touchy-feely type.)

I grapple with thoughts of obligation vs thoughts of self-care. I read articles where people are 100% sure about the fact that you should/should not ever go no-contact with a parent. I know the opinions. I know the limitations. I know that it’s … impossible.

But when it comes to this question: if the phone rang and I was required to go to Florida (where he was last living, I think?) to identify his body … would I go? Could I go? Do I remember what he looks like? Would he want me touching his things? Would he think I’m the last person on earth that he’d want to be there, knowing that I haven’t tried to mend things?

And I’m telling you, this thought — this progression of thoughts — has me tied in knots this week. And let’s be honest – even if I could tell you now what I would or or would not do, there is no saying I would actually do that should the moment arise. And so, why worry?

Well, because worrying is what I do.

And I romanticize things. The movies and books romanticize the end of estrangement. The father is sick and asks for the daughter, who arrives in time for him to tell her he’s so sorry for all the pain he’s caused and that … you get the picture. A beautiful reconnection, everyone has peace.

I can tell you that is not in my future. One of our last conversations was about him offering to pay for me to go to therapy so I could learn to be grateful for everything he did for me, followed by a threat to sue for grandparent rights.

There’s a lot I don’t know about living this life, and this one is a doozy for me. A giant, gaping hole in my heart that aches and longs for what I cannot have. But we all have this, in many different ways, and I often think about how lucky I am to be able to feel all of this. Feel it way deep down. Feel it big.

Next of kin.

Kin.

Whether I am or not, I know that I have many people who love me so big and so unconditionally they will help me weather whatever that would entail. And what a great reminder to focus on what I have instead of what I’m missing.

XO

Christy