Everything changed after my parents found religion when I was 14 years old.
My brothers, sister, and I had to dedicate our lives to living religious principles. I grew up in a home environment where appearances were everything. We had to “look” godly, or we’d be spanked.
For three years, I tried, but when I told my parents I wasn’t going to seminary and didn’t want to become a pastor, they kicked me out at 17 years old.
I found myself crying every ounce of liquid out of my body every night at the Pacific Garden Mission. I dropped out of high school and worked three low-paying jobs to survive.
I become so bitter at my parents, especially my mother. I was angry she kicked me out and that I couldn’t see my little brother, who’s two years younger than me.
Years later, they’re both dying, and I’m unsure how to feel.
I didn’t talk to my family for years
As I tried to work my way out of the homeless shelter, I met the woman who would become my first wife working at Burger King. We married the day after I turned 18 and got an apartment together. I was able to leave the homeless shelter.
A year later, we had a son. Over the next three years, we had another son and a daughter. I was not talking to my parents or family during this time.
My mother wanted to see her grandchildren, so we talked through some of our grievances. I don’t know if I would have ever talked to my mother if I hadn’t had children.
But I didn’t want my kids not to know their grandparents, so my mother and I talked through things to the point where we could maintain communication.
I wouldn’t call it a deep connection, but I decided to move on from the bitter stage and move to a cordial relationship where the main focus was my kids seeing their grandparents.
At this point, I got to talk to my brother again, who had been living with my parents. Having the short calls and being allowed to catch up and reconnect felt good.
Over the next 20 years, I kept a cordial relationship with my parents and didn’t spend much time with my brother. They lived their lives, and I lived mine.
My mother and brother got cancer, and things became more complicated
My brother was diagnosed with Cutaneous T-cell lymphoma (CTCL) three years ago, and my mother found out she had stage four lung cancer a year ago.
I got a call earlier this year that the cancer was spreading, and I flew to spend time with them.
I knew it would be hard seeing them battling late-stage cancer, but what I walked into was my brother in the Advanced Cancer Care Center, unable to move, and my mother wanting to hold an “end of life” planning meeting. It was worse than I anticipated.
It was hard to see him not moving and the nurses having to help him do everything. My mother looked like she weighed 50 pounds and had sores on her mouth as a side effect of cancer medication; I couldn’t even hug her due to the risk of possible infection.
I’m worried I won’t feel anything when they pass away
Spending this time with my mom at the end of her life has made me realize I needed to forgive and let go of the grudge I’ve been holding onto for 27 years.
I’m not dismissing what happened to me, but I’m choosing to spend these final days getting to know the mother I didn’t. I’ve gotten closer to my brother and made up for all the time we haven’t had together.
However, as I watched my mother and brother battling terminal cancer and having what could be their last moments in life, my thoughts have been that I’m not sure I’ll feel anything when they die. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that a part of me is still angry and struggling to let go.
I feel bad for them as a person would feel bad for another person who feels bad — but not emotionally, as in a “normal” way you’d feel bad toward a family member getting cancer.
I think it might be just another day when they pass away. I’ve been thinking — what does that say about me? Am I a bad person for not falling on the ground and losing it for over half of my family dying?
Or is this nothingness an OK feeling due to the complicated relationship we’ve had most of my life?
I don’t know the answers, but these are conversations I’m having with my therapist.
I’m spending as much time with them as possible, not wanting to regret how I handled this opportunity to say goodbye more healthily.
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