Day of Atonement

I'm not Jewish--even if my husband is. But thanks to an upbringing by a father raised as a Catholic, converted to Born Again Christianity, who lived his life as a military man and believes that guilt is the most powerful motivator out there, I am always drawn to holidays that require restraint and repression (fasting) and reflection on what you have done wrong. And so I took yesterday-Yom Kippur- to reflect deeply on what I could have done better this past year. I think that not working gives me more time to pay attention, and to help out others in small ways and large, that I did not have before. For this I am grateful. And I do not feel like I coasted through important moments blindly, to be plagued with regret later on. But as I worked through my yoga yesterday I felt a powerful anger rise up in me.
It was a mama anger. A deep, protective, instinctive mama bear anger. I am angry at my sister-in-law. She had a baby in June. I was so excited to have a local niece. I have two adorable nieces far, far away on the other side of the world, but by the time I see them again they will have forgotten who I am. And I really want to be an aunt. I want to be the aunt I never had. My sister-in-law was the most fabulous aunt in the world. She spent a lot of time with my boys. She worked with them, got to know them, taught them art and did special projects with them. They adored her! In Theo's school assessment at St. James the only thing he told the school about his family was that his aunt was an artist, and that he did projects with her. She was a dream.
She had her baby girl, and she has disappeared. Her birth was traumatic, and the months after birth are always hard, so hard, and hard to recall once you are no longer in that sleep-deprived, slightly panicked hell. And I try to remember that.
But since her baby was born she has barely seen my boys. She just dropped them. One day we brought her a roast chicken, and Benji was allowed into the apartment and touched Elaina's toe. It turned out he had hand-foot-and-mouth disease--an alarming sounding but not very serious illness that causes little discomfort but is highly contagious.
The baby never got it. But that was it. Since then we have been quarantined. When she sees my boys she will not touch them. We only meet in outdoor public places--parks. We do not enter her home, she does not enter ours. We do not touch the baby. I held the baby once when she was just born, and Carolyn was still in a drug-induced state. Since then, no touching. When the baby goes outside it is under a black mosquito netting type contraption so no one will see how cute she is and inadvertently reach out and touch her, or be able to.
I am a grown up. If she does not want me to touch or be near her baby, I must deal. Although I do believe that babies bring joy, and if you are blessed enough to have a baby, how wonderful to share that joy with others. They are so beautiful!!! But I am so hurt that she will not see or be near my boys. That she will walk away from them. Not touch them. No explanation. Just a quiet, cold avoidance. We are not allowed to talk about it.
And as I was stretching and breathing I felt this deep anger inside. I felt this hurt for my boys. That someone they love so much made the time for them, then cut it off completely with no explanation. I know her family comes first, but it hurts so much. And as their protector I feel rage.
And so, I am atoning for my feelings. I hope that I can accept Carolyn's rejection of me, and my boys, but I hope I do not punish Elaina, so cute and young and having no responsilibity for any of this. I hope that I can forgive, and remain with an open heart towards this sweet baby. And I hope that I can find compassion in my heart for her treatment of my boys, who I love so much. This is probably more of a journal entry than a blog--and yet, I write it here because this is my record of all the complex emotions that children bring up in families. My other nieces are so far away, in Singapore, and yet, as little as I have seen them, I have seen them more than my local neice. And, in those rare times when I do see them I feel like they are shared, and family is celebrated. Children holding children, aunts and uncles caring for nieces. I wanted this so much as a child, and I wish I could give my boys this. Perhaps it will come in another form, through friends...