Fractured Family Ties

Fractured family ties 

She pushed her toque back on her head. The knit cap was slightly too big for her small head. It had belonged to her father. He had died the previous fall and she missed him. Wearing it gave her a sense of connection to him. She didn’t care that it often fell over her eyes. The sixth-month anniversary of his death was bringing with it all the sad memories she’d tried so hard to bury. The funeral had been a farce with her dad’s sister causing a scene that later snowballed into an estrangement that had yet to be healed. Holly hadn’t spoken to her since. The memory was too bitter and fraught with anger. She couldn’t forgive her.

Cathleen Burgess, her aunt, was a person who craved attention. Even at the funeral she could think of nobody’s pain but her own. Holly pushed away the memory of her aunt draping herself, wailing, over her brother’s coffin. When her husband tried to pull her away screams of “No, no - he’s my brother,” reverberated through the small chapel. It was embarrassing as well as upsetting for all who had gathered to pay their respects.

 At the time Holly’s mother, Gwen, was going through chemo and it was heart wrenching to think how difficult the funeral must have been for her. Gwen forgave Cathleen. Holly could not. To her mind it was her mother who had needed support, more so than Aunt Cathleen. In Holly’s opinion, Cathleen was selfish and self-absorbed. She gritted her teeth as she remembered how the woman had leaned on her weak and sick mother. Instead of being a source of solace for her brother’s wife, her aunt had expected Gwen to comfort her! Cathleen had not even called to check on her sister-in-law in the days and weeks following the service.

Holly stooped down, gathering up snow in her mittened hands she formed it into a snowball, throwing it hard against the abandoned building.  She repeated the actions again and again in an effort to blow off steam. She needed to get rid of the rage before returning home. Imagining her aunt on the receiving end of her volley of snowballs helped.

She had moved back home a year ago, when the family first learned of her mother’s breast cancer diagnosis. Her father was a kind and caring man but while he did everything in his power to make life easier for his wife, he was no cook. Holly smiled as she remembered the bland chicken dinner he had cooked for supper on her first day back at home. She’d arrived late in the afternoon and had wanted to order take out but her dad had insisted on making the meal. She didn’t have the heart to tell him it was only barely edible. Dylan Fitzgerald prided himself on his culinary skills and his daughter did not disabuse him of his illusion. Remembering it now made Holly smile. 

She brushed the snow from her jacket and clapped her hands to remove the clumps of snow that clung to the wool. Pushing her mitten off, she reached into her pocket for her cell phone. She glanced at the time. Mom will be resting for at least another hour. Just enough time for a walk.

Gwen was still recovering from the long months of radiation and chemo therapy after the double mastectomy. She had only been out of hospital for a few weeks when her husband had the heart attack that ended his life. The shock and grief impacted her health. It had been painful watching her go through it. Holly worked hard to get her mother to eat and prepared nourishing food to help her gain strength. It was challenging. Grief killed her appetite and Holly often had to beg and plead with her to eat in the weeks following her father’s death. She’d been terrified she’d soon lose her mother as well.

 Her training as a dietitian led to her writing cook books, which had met with a modicum of success. Although she missed her apartment and the friends she’d made, she was glad to be able to come home and nurse her mother back to health. It was one boon of being a writer – she could do that anywhere.

Gwen was finally gaining weight, which made Holly happy. She was relieved that the last visit to the oncologist had garnered good news at last. She was free from cancer cells but would need biannual appointments for well into the future to ensure continued good health.

Holly walked quickly, making her way around the block as fast as her feet would carry her. Try as she might she could not banish thoughts of her aunt from her mind. She’d encountered the woman only once since the funeral, at the local grocery store. Holly did not acknowledge her but swept past her to the frozen food aisle. Later she learned Cathleen had blocked her and her siblings on Facebook, the social media site where all the family traded photos and news. Holly really didn’t care but she knew her mother had been hurt by it. Gwen didn’t have her own Facebook but enjoyed seeing the photos Holly would show her of their extended family, especially her cousin’s babies. Holly scrunched up her nose. Aunt Cathleen is so damned childish.

**********************

Cathleen sneezed hard and brought the Kleenex to her face to blow her nose. She sat in her small living room holding a photograph of her brother, Dylan, and weeping. They had been close. Dylan had called her every day just to chat a bit and to see how she was doing. She often thought he was one of very few people who cared about her. Then Gwen got so sick. Nobody knew how often he’d called her crying over his wife’s cancer and expressing fears of losing her. Cathleen had listened willingly.

Their family was dysfunctional in many ways. Often there was one family drama or another and Cathleen was usually at the center of it. She couldn’t seem to help it. She fancied herself a peace-maker, though many of her relatives would argue the fact. She never once apologized for hurting the feelings of others, whether family or friend. To her mind apologizing meant admitting she was wrong and she wasn’t – especially not where her niece, Holly, was concerned. She felt bad for Gwen, she truly did but didn’t know how to make amends.

Looking back, she was embarrassed by her behaviour at Dylan’s funeral. It wasn’t only his death, but the fear that Gwen would soon follow that had played on her mind that day. She wasn’t particularly close to Gwen but her sister-in-law had always been good to her, frequently arriving at their home with little gifts for Cathleen. Those gifts had meant a great deal to her and to imagine Gwen dying ate at her. Dylan had feared his wife was walking in her mother’s shoes. Gwen’s mother had died of breast cancer, so it was a reasonable assumption – scary but reasonable. Thinking of her sister-in-law brough a fresh cascade of tears pouring down her face. She was so caught up in her fear of Gwen dying that she couldn’t face her and never called. She couldn’t. The fear was immobilizing.

Bruce, her husband, found her in the living room and sighed heavily. He knew how much she missed her brother but enough was enough already! He really hated all the drama and knew his wife was perpetually the cause of it. He didn’t know what to do. There was no sense calling her on it – she’d never admit to any fault and laid the blame at the feet of whomever she was on the outs with at the time. He drew in a deep breath.

“Cathleen? What’s the matter? Why are you crying?’

Cathleen glanced up at him. He was standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb. She shook her head.

           “Don’t you remember what date this is? It’s six months today since Dylan died.” She nodded toward the photograph in her hands as her tears continued to fall.

           Bruce wished she would find something to fill her time rather than sitting around the house lost in her morose thoughts. They had been married for thirty years and she was trying his patience more and more of late. Many called her a drama queen and, in all honesty, he couldn’t disagree with the moniker. She was also a glutton for sympathy. She seemed to soak up pity like a dying house plant soaks up water. He had learned over the years that while she wanted pity, it was not what she needed.

           “Come on, get up and go get dressed. I’m taking you out for dinner.” His tone was firm and he wore a no-nonsense expression on his craggy face. It was the one thing that usually worked to get her out of a funk, so he was surprised when she refused.

           “You’ve never understood how much I loved my brother. Dylan understood me. Nobody else ever did, not even you.” Cathleen’s voice broke and she turned away from him.

           “Dylan was a good man but he did you no favors by coddling you. If you won’t come with me, I’ll go by myself. Now, are you coming or not?” Bruce swiped his hand over his face. Cathleen would not answer, nor would she look at him. Bruce waited for several tense minutes before turning and walking out the door. He knew he’d pay for his comments later. Cathleen would give him the silent treatment for hours, if not days. He no longer cared. Their marriage had been on rocky ground for a long time. He did sympathize with her loss. It was the reason he hadn’t left months ago like he’d planned. Dylan’s death had complicated everything. He simply wanted to be happy and he knew that would not be possible as long as he stayed.

           Cathleen dried her tears and replaced the framed photo of her brother on the mantle where it held pride of place. Growing up she had been taught that her siblings always came first – before spouses and even her children. Yes, they had been raised very differently. Bruce had always taken her side when she’d had disagreements with his parents and brothers. She knew he was bitter because she could never pay him that same respect. She shrugged her shoulders. She couldn’t understand Bruce’s reaction to her grief. She supposed that was the main problem in their marriage – they didn’t truly understand one another. They’d loved one another once, long ago. Now they were merely roommates going through life on autopilot. It had been that way for too long.

Bruce drove his truck to the diner and parked. He wasn’t even angry. He no longer cared about Cathleen. Whatever fire they’d held for one another had petered out slowly over time, like charcoal briquettes on the barbeque. He thought after Dylan died that they might be able to rekindle their love. It didn’t take long for him to realize that while his brother-in-law was no longer on this plane of existence, his wife would continue to mourn him for the rest of her days. It struck him as unnatural and a little bit neurotic. He often wondered if Cathleen would mourn his death just as deeply. Somehow, he knew she wouldn’t. He felt a tad guilty about looking forward to an evening meal without her. It would be peaceful at the very least.

***********************

Holly opened the door to the little bungalow and breathed in the aromatic fragrance of the stew she’d made earlier and left simmering on the stove. She opened the closet and hung up her jacket before removing her boots, leaving her wet mittens on the grate to dry before going in search of her mother. She found her in the family room wrapped up in a blanket on the couch and reading a novel.

           “Did you have a nice walk?” Gwen smiled at her daughter.

Holly noted the tear stains that were still in evidence, despite her mother’s cheerful greeting.

           “I did. I love this time of year. Not too cold and the snow is lovely. It’s like a winter wonderland out there.”

           “You wore your father’s cap. It’s much too big for you. We have several in the storage bench. I’m sure you could find a better fit.” Gwen tilted her head sideways, grinning.

Holly reached up to snatch the toque from her head. She’d forgotten she was wearing it. She folded it into her fist and dropped down onto the love seat.

           “I love this one.” She shrugged and dropped the hat onto the end table.

           “You have your father’s eyes. That shade of green always worked well for him – for you, too.” Gwen glanced at the cap, remembering.

           “You look a bit better. How are you feeling?” Holly tried to distract her mother from thoughts of her dad.

           “I feel good! That stew smells divine. You know, you don’t have to continue catering to me. I can cook. I’m not an invalid you know.”

           “I was up early and I wanted it to simmer to meld the flavors, like you taught me.”

           “You’re a far better cook than I ever was.” Gwen mumbled and then stared into Holly’s eyes. “There’s something I’d like to talk with you about . . .” she trailed off, trying to find the right words.

           “Okay, what is it, Mom?”

Gwen took a deep breath. “It’s about Cathleen. It’s been months. I think it’s time to let bygones be bygones.” Her eyes searched those of her daughter for some hint of how her words were being received.

Holly stood up and walked over to the fireplace, her back to Gwen. She didn’t answer. She knew her mother had a soft spot for her aunt and couldn’t understand why.

           “Holly? Please, come sit with me. It’s time you knew Cathleen’s story – the whole story.”

Holly moved slowly to the couch to sit beside her mother. It took a long time for Gwen to explain and often she had to stop as emotions overwhelmed her. Holly was moved in equal parts by pity and outrage over what her aunt had endured as a child. Suddenly it all made sense: the willful childishness, the stubborn refusal to apologize, all of the less than likeable traits Cathleen possessed. Gwen was a licensed psychologist and had keen insights into the trauma response and now she worked to help her daughter understand.

           “You have to keep this between us. Cathleen would be horrified if she knew I’d told you.” Gwen reached out and tucked a stray tendril of hair behind Holly’s ear. “This is why your father and I overlooked her faults. She isn’t all bad. Nobody is. We are all the product of our environments.” Gwen’s voice was quiet and her eyes soft as she sought understanding from her daughter. 

Holly sat silently considering the information, torn between the righteous anger toward her aunt that she felt justified in feeling and the pity warring with it. Gwen watched her daughter as emotions played themselves out. Her face was an open book and Gwen understood the battle that was being waged and commiserated.

           “You don’t have to do anything right now. Just think about it, okay?” Gwen hugged her and patted her back. “Now, why don’t we go eat. You must be famished after your walk.”