I just learned my middle sister got married again. This is her third husband, and she is only 30. Granted, she married her first husband when she was like 19-20 years old, but still, three seems like a lot in such a little time.
When I think of my marriage compared to those of my family members, and especially my parents' marriage, I am shocked how much love we have. My sisters and I grew up with so little love, we did not even know how to show love to one another, if there was any at all.
My oldest sister claims she loves her husband, but when I have seen them together they both seem to despise each other. He cannot seem to get away from her fast enough, an she just scowls at him constantly, as if he is never up to her immeasurable standards.
My middles sister and her first husband (I did not have contact with her since their divorce) had a rocky relationship from day one. They were always fighting and calling one another names so horrid, it brought tears to my eyes. After their first born, things settled down on his side, but she only seemed to get worse as years went by, escalating to the point that after about 4 years she was beating him up in front of the children. The poor man was so ashamed he just dealt with it, until she was cheating on him and decided the best way to get rid of him was to accuse him of rape. When I stuck to the victim's side, I created a great wedge between me and my family.
Sadly though, I do not regret the lack of communication I have had with my mother and sisters in the past years. It has been a sort of calm in my life. A lack of guilt for not feeling enough towards them, and a lack of need for them to feel more for me.
My parents' relationship was of a whole other situation all together. My dad claimed that the day my mother told him she was pregnant with my oldest sister, he was packed and ready to leave. I guess his habit of using her was beginning to become boring, so he was ready to move on to another victim. But, since he had already walked away from one child as a teenager (something he made sure to punish us for with incessant mistrust through the years) he could not walk away from another, and so they married out of duty. There was never a sense of love between them, although they did both make efforts every so often. Just never at the same time.
My father lived years with one foot out the door, running around on my mom. He claimed he only started cheating on her after I was born, but I believe he did it all along. My mother knew of his cheating, and just turned a blind eye, denying all of his actions. Even to the point of trying to blame other women for trying to steal him. But, there was always a tension between them, and the two rarely spent any time in the same room unless it was in bed.
Father claimed Mother was a horrible and controlling woman, but I know otherwise. She would bow to his feet if he wanted her too. His second wife is the same way, and I just do not understand it one bit. Mother spent their years together hoping he would come to his senses and grow up, while he wished she would drop off the face of the Earth.
Meanwhile, they consistently reminded us girls how horrible it was to be together through words and actions. Mother always commented on how horrible it was having three young children; oh, how she wished she waited longer to have all of us. Then Dad could never spend a whole day with his family. Even when we went on vacation he would become a tyrant after only a couple of days. One time, he became so enraged folding up a tent, literally bit a hole in it. When I mentioned this to his new wife years later he claimed it was because no one helped with the tent, but when I attempted to help him he yelled at me that I would just mess it up. That is my father, nothing is ever his fault.
So, there was a huge lack of love in my childhood. Even my favorite person in the world, my Grandma, could not hug me in a loving way often. Of course she would embrace me when she had not seen me for awhile, and I relished those hugs. but, she was not one to sit with me and read a book, or stroke my head out of kindness. Not that it was not there, I knew it was and saw it in her eyes and action. She just had trouble showing affection from the abuse of her husband. Something I came to better understand over the years.
I find it strange when my husbands Aunt, absentmindedly rubs her hand down my hair, or his Grandmother rubs my shoulders when I am ill. I even have trouble when they offer to help me with house work during my really bad months. But, I find my reactions are positive. I enjoy knowing the lack of affection in my childhood was not because of me, as I was often told.
My mother even once told my husband I was too hard to love. Which, it might be true it is too hard for her to love me, but it is not true that I am hard to love. Without my husband and the family of his I have become to love so dearly, I would never have known the love I hold in my heart could be returned. This was something I was so afraid of as a child. And, I hope that anyone out there who is not given the love they deserve will once find all they deserve. A lack of love is something no one ever deserves.
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