The greater gift
Once upon a time, a Tas was born, a year and a half before her mother's almighty plan had scheduled the first child but fate had stepped in and she was welcome. Her father, initially unsure he wanted any children, had changed his mind because of DRC, his nephew - the oldest son of Tas's mother's sister and best friend. DRC followed Tas's dad around like a wee puppy, wriggling with joy whenever the dad would pay attention to him, and thirty-six years later, not much has changed.
Tas and DRC were inseparable for the first eleven years of her life; so much so that her mother once believed that it would lead to incest. (Tas found this out in her twenties and, after rather hysterical laughter, pointed out the boys that she had lost interest in/refused to date/broken up with because they too closely resembled DRC.) They were still close through their teen years, though they spent less time together as they attended different schools and had different circles of friends. He stood up at her wedding and was one of the few people who visited her while she and her husband lived in Kingston.
Then, Tas grew more and more clinically depressed, and it began to affect her relationships. DRC eventually met Y, and Tas stood up at their wedding - but her intended gift of a handmade patchwork quilt, the pattern of which Y had helped choose, never materialised. It caused a rift. Subtle at first, but it widened as her depression grew worse and so did her ability to be around and interact with people, and her own marriage dissolved. And the quilt never did get finished. It remains packed away, pattern intact, fabric intact though doubtless in dire need of pressing, and foundation paper probably curled irreparably and requiring replacement to use. They don't talk much, anymore, though Tas and Y get along fine; they usually only see each other at family dinners, and Tas doesn't talk much on the phone, anyway. What's left is a pale echo of what was once the most important relationship in her life - the most important person, who taught her to count in English and French both, who taught her what it meant when boys said certain things and what to expect from sex, who offered (and was declined, though with a smile) to beat up all the boys who broke her heart.
**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sunday was our Thanksgiving dinner - my family has always done it on Sunday, as has my godfamily (my mom's sister, mon oncle, and my cousins). It wasn't anything special here; there are only the three of us, none of whom is a dessert person, and Mom and I are both allergic to turkey anyway. But part of what it does involve is a phone call to my godparents' place, because we're so far away now that we can't all have dinner together, and the phone gets passed around and stupid conversation gets made and we have to yell at my grandmother because she's going deaf but despises her hearing aid so never wears it. My younger brother, SDC, moved out west in May - right after I got home from my vacation, actually, so I *just* caught him to talk to him before he left and talked him into getting a gmail account instead of hotmail ;D. He sold his house, which he'd bought from his parents and it was the house that we all grew up in (me as a visitor); I'd never even gotten to see the renovations he'd done. But he's looking for a way to come back east now, though not to Ontario, because he isn't happy there. He's twenty-seven, beautiful, and one of the sweetest people I've ever known even if he was an absolute brat when I used to babysit him. But I was vindicated by his utter outrage at how sore he was the day after I taught him how to headbang. He was six. :D
So as the phone got passed around on Sunday, I ended up talking to DRC. I don't think we've spoken since last Christmas, and he was a little difficult to hear because his eight-month-old son was wailing in the background (he has four teeth coming in, ow) but he shifted right into Mr. Share-With-Me mode - this is where my unsquickableness about TMI comes from, btw - and then at some point in the conversation, he quietly, simply, said, "I miss you." And something kind of broke inside me. I've been hearing it echo every so often over the last two days and it's swirling around with everything else and I keep tearing up, or outright crying if I have privacy, like now. I haven't met his son. I haven't seen his daughter since she was about the son's age - and she's now four. And a reader. I send her books every year and she loves them. My nephew's not old enough for me to know what to send him yet that's personalised. But from the pictures he looks just like his daddy did as a baby. *smiles* [pic of me and DRC at four and six]
I've been thinking a lot about trust lately. As George MacDonald said, "It is a greater compliment to be trusted than to be loved." With love, you can't choose whether it comes, goes, or stays. Not truly. You can help it, you can nurture it, but ultimately it either is or it isn't. But trust can be earned. Of all the things I hate about the grey days of depression, what I hate most is that then, I can't be trusted. That I fail to follow through on things I've promised. That I don't make quilts or mail packages or whatever the hell else it is that I simply have not been able to find the willpower to make myself do. Consequently, and perhaps despite knowing that if a relationship with me lasts long enough I will almost unavoidably strain it at times, I treasure trust. I recognise it as fragile and precious. I mean I'm easy enough to love, if not so much to live with. :P Of course there are days when I feel completely unlovable (like most of them lately), where I wonder if I'll ever find anyone who's capable, NOT of looking past my faults, but of *accepting* them, accepting that they're there and yeah, okay, they can definitely suck but I'm still worth the emotional investment. Who gets that sometimes, I need to fucking cling and doesn't push me away but figures out if they just put up with it for a little while, I'll find my equilibrium and leave them be again. And I don't know if trust is something that I've regained from my brother or if that's even possible, so long after the initial chasm and with such physical distance between us, too. I just know that that simple phrase made me feel more homesick than I have in years, and it's made me think about things.
So if you've ever gifted me with your trust, I thank you. No matter what might have happened between us or might ever happen in the future, I do appreciate it as a true gift. ♥
Tas and DRC were inseparable for the first eleven years of her life; so much so that her mother once believed that it would lead to incest. (Tas found this out in her twenties and, after rather hysterical laughter, pointed out the boys that she had lost interest in/refused to date/broken up with because they too closely resembled DRC.) They were still close through their teen years, though they spent less time together as they attended different schools and had different circles of friends. He stood up at her wedding and was one of the few people who visited her while she and her husband lived in Kingston.
Then, Tas grew more and more clinically depressed, and it began to affect her relationships. DRC eventually met Y, and Tas stood up at their wedding - but her intended gift of a handmade patchwork quilt, the pattern of which Y had helped choose, never materialised. It caused a rift. Subtle at first, but it widened as her depression grew worse and so did her ability to be around and interact with people, and her own marriage dissolved. And the quilt never did get finished. It remains packed away, pattern intact, fabric intact though doubtless in dire need of pressing, and foundation paper probably curled irreparably and requiring replacement to use. They don't talk much, anymore, though Tas and Y get along fine; they usually only see each other at family dinners, and Tas doesn't talk much on the phone, anyway. What's left is a pale echo of what was once the most important relationship in her life - the most important person, who taught her to count in English and French both, who taught her what it meant when boys said certain things and what to expect from sex, who offered (and was declined, though with a smile) to beat up all the boys who broke her heart.
**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sunday was our Thanksgiving dinner - my family has always done it on Sunday, as has my godfamily (my mom's sister, mon oncle, and my cousins). It wasn't anything special here; there are only the three of us, none of whom is a dessert person, and Mom and I are both allergic to turkey anyway. But part of what it does involve is a phone call to my godparents' place, because we're so far away now that we can't all have dinner together, and the phone gets passed around and stupid conversation gets made and we have to yell at my grandmother because she's going deaf but despises her hearing aid so never wears it. My younger brother, SDC, moved out west in May - right after I got home from my vacation, actually, so I *just* caught him to talk to him before he left and talked him into getting a gmail account instead of hotmail ;D. He sold his house, which he'd bought from his parents and it was the house that we all grew up in (me as a visitor); I'd never even gotten to see the renovations he'd done. But he's looking for a way to come back east now, though not to Ontario, because he isn't happy there. He's twenty-seven, beautiful, and one of the sweetest people I've ever known even if he was an absolute brat when I used to babysit him. But I was vindicated by his utter outrage at how sore he was the day after I taught him how to headbang. He was six. :D
So as the phone got passed around on Sunday, I ended up talking to DRC. I don't think we've spoken since last Christmas, and he was a little difficult to hear because his eight-month-old son was wailing in the background (he has four teeth coming in, ow) but he shifted right into Mr. Share-With-Me mode - this is where my unsquickableness about TMI comes from, btw - and then at some point in the conversation, he quietly, simply, said, "I miss you." And something kind of broke inside me. I've been hearing it echo every so often over the last two days and it's swirling around with everything else and I keep tearing up, or outright crying if I have privacy, like now. I haven't met his son. I haven't seen his daughter since she was about the son's age - and she's now four. And a reader. I send her books every year and she loves them. My nephew's not old enough for me to know what to send him yet that's personalised. But from the pictures he looks just like his daddy did as a baby. *smiles* [pic of me and DRC at four and six]
I've been thinking a lot about trust lately. As George MacDonald said, "It is a greater compliment to be trusted than to be loved." With love, you can't choose whether it comes, goes, or stays. Not truly. You can help it, you can nurture it, but ultimately it either is or it isn't. But trust can be earned. Of all the things I hate about the grey days of depression, what I hate most is that then, I can't be trusted. That I fail to follow through on things I've promised. That I don't make quilts or mail packages or whatever the hell else it is that I simply have not been able to find the willpower to make myself do. Consequently, and perhaps despite knowing that if a relationship with me lasts long enough I will almost unavoidably strain it at times, I treasure trust. I recognise it as fragile and precious. I mean I'm easy enough to love, if not so much to live with. :P Of course there are days when I feel completely unlovable (like most of them lately), where I wonder if I'll ever find anyone who's capable, NOT of looking past my faults, but of *accepting* them, accepting that they're there and yeah, okay, they can definitely suck but I'm still worth the emotional investment. Who gets that sometimes, I need to fucking cling and doesn't push me away but figures out if they just put up with it for a little while, I'll find my equilibrium and leave them be again. And I don't know if trust is something that I've regained from my brother or if that's even possible, so long after the initial chasm and with such physical distance between us, too. I just know that that simple phrase made me feel more homesick than I have in years, and it's made me think about things.
So if you've ever gifted me with your trust, I thank you. No matter what might have happened between us or might ever happen in the future, I do appreciate it as a true gift. ♥