Today, as I sit here at my desk at work, finishing my hurried lunch, I was
stopped in my tracks by a thought that filters through to me now and again.

What brought about this thought was the fact that my aunt (mom's sister) is
dying of Parkinson's, and her two children have kept a chilly distance from her
since they left home -- not because she was abusive, or because they had
horrible childhoods, quite the opposite is true. But because they just didn't
feel a need to be connected to their family of origin once they created families
of their own. One of the children, who is my age, has treated her mother as
nothing more than an inconvenience for the past several years, only coming to
see her when absolutely necessary, and then being verbally and sometimes
physically abusive when she does. It has broken my aunt's heart in a million
pieces, and now there's probably not going to be any time to put any kind of
closure on this for either one of them.

I'm very stricken by the fact that my drinking years often made me an extremely
selfish and uncaring person to many. That my mother, especially, often got the
brunt of my hungover bad moods, that she asked very little of me and got less in
return, and how my sobriety has changed all of that. Were my parents perfect,
oh, no, not by any stretch. But my mother never stopped caring about me, even
when I was at my worst. And I'm feeling very glad right now that she and I have
become such close friends in the past six years. Something that never could have
happened if I was still drinking.

I'll grieve for my aunt when she passes, but I think I'll feel much sorrier for
my cousin, because I don't think it will be easy for her to carry the unfinished
business of this relationship around with her. Apparently, she's already
starting to express remorse for her behavior when talking with my mom. I only
hope that she has a few moments with my aunt before she leaves this earth, so
that both of them can put some closure on their lives together/apart. It makes
me grateful for my recovery in a way that doesn't strike me all that often.

SJG 11/19/04