Ours is not a happy story. I didn’t fully realize that until I began to finally learn about who my original grandparents were.
I had described the situation though and I had intuitive senses about it before I began to read what others had written about it as well.
I put together everything I knew into book form – a limited edition only meant for direct family and not even all of it.
Knowing it wasn’t a happy story before I sent it off to its recipients, even so I was willing to risk the fallout that might blow back at me. And it has. Sadly.
What I regret most was that it appears it will impact several others who had nothing to do with my decision to come fully to face all of the less than happy truths about our family circumstances.
Yet with a heavy heart and deep sadness, I also know it isn’t something that only happened last night. It has been always at the edge and always unhappy. The wounds are deep, complicated and hurting.
I wish it wasn’t that way. I suppose that many families do have less than happy stories. I have cut off my youngest sister for the time being because she has traumatized me. My husband and his brother who were once very close are not now. It happens. That doesn’t mean I rejoice in it.