Recently I have had a couple of nearly brutal little reminders of how difficult it can be explaining to people that I don't have a family AND that I'm perfectly okay about it. They were both conversations with Mexicans and Mexicans have much stronger family ties with each other than do many Canadians. One is a very sweet young woman who works in a Mexican café where I enjoy hanging out with my sketchbook. She seemed saddened and perplexed when, after asking me if I have any family to see for the holidays, I replied no, they're all either dead or away somewhere. I didn't realize at the time how cruel and brutal this must have sounded to her. Especially when I smiled and said, "por eso, para mi hay menos problemas", or, therefore I don't have so many problems. Last night I had a conversation via Skype with a friend who lives in Mexico. He also seemed baffled that not only have I not seen my one sibling in almost twenty years, and not only do I not know where he is, or whether he is dead or alive, it really doesn't matter to me. My friend wanted to know why. I replied that my brother has always hated and rejected me. He has never explained why and this is why we are not in contact. My young Mexican friend seemed very saddened by this bit of information and I was quick to change the subject, more because I didn't want to upset him and I didn't want my sense of schadenfreud about my family to further sadden him.
This is actually a very common feature about ageing alone. We are often completely isolated from family and loved ones. They are often dead, or estranged, or, as in my case, we have been cruelly judged as incurable losers and ostracised as a stain on the family DNA. I am not feeling sorry for myself. I have come to terms with my solitude in the world and have come to embrace and actually enjoy it. My Christmases are guilt and conflict free. I can spend time working with vulnerable adults and almost every year there is another friend I can either invite over for brunch or who will have me over for dinner as happened this year.
Still, I am isolated and, like many low income seniors, I am ageing alone. I have no intention of doing this without friends, but by the same token it is more incumbent upon me to be a friend than to find a friend. As painful as this solitude was for a while, this has become for me a kind of freedom. I can use this extra alone time to deepen in God, to grow as a person, to rest and recharge by the well of living water and it gives me more room to welcome others into my life.
Here I am entering into what should be a sad and very bleak stage of life for me, but I have never felt so well, so well-loved and appreciated by others, and so ready for new doors to open. My capacity to enjoy the most simple beauties of life has never felt so stable, consistent and heightened. I expect things to only get better as I proceed on into my sixties, regardless of what billionaire imbecile is occupying the White House, because my wellbeing comes from a place within, where I fellowship with the same living God who made and sustains the universe.
This is a call out to my brother, by the way, should he stumble upon my blog or if anyone reading this might happen to know him. He is the man also known as Rick Shannon, from his radio broadcasting days with C-Fox during the seventies and CFMI during the eighties. His birth name is Richard James Greenlaw. Hello, Rick. I do not know why you have always hated and rejected me as you have never told me why. Your treatment of my has been deplorable and while I cannot forgive the act I can forgive you. Regardless of your vile attitude towards me I love you and if you ever wish to contact me all you have to do is a quick Google search. Providing your will and your intentions are good, I will give you a warm welcome. Should we never see each other again, and I think this is likely, I wish you a good life as you, like me, begin soon to enter your final stage of life.
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