A Pandemic Thanksgiving - Afterthoughts

* Please note: This piece ended up being written over a few weeks. I've been to my doctor, and apparently, our province doesn't actually have a permanent medical exemption for the vaccination. I have valid health concerns, not just gleaned from all the hype. I could be granted a temporary exemption, but the hoops that I am expected to jump through to maintain that status place me at far greater risk of being exposed to Covid 19. Therefore, I will have to continue keeping myself segregated from mainstream society.

The day after Thanksgiving here in Canada, and strangely, I found myself filled with more gratitude than I did over the long weekend. I survived this one... for that I am thankful. There has been a dynamic shift in the holidays in my home and I can only pray that somehow I can find a way to chase off the pall that was cast over my weekend. There was a deep emptiness that threatened to consume me.

I suppose the pandemic is partly to blame for the pathetic holiday, but not completely. Our current provincial restrictions dictate that I am not allowed inside gatherings because I am not vaccinated and do not yet have my medical exemption paperwork in hand. Although I tried two business days after the announcement, almost a month ago, I can't see my doctor until the day after tomorrow to secure my papers. That wouldn't have stopped me from letting the family come. We live in an isolated enough area that no one would have known, and I do have enough common sense to keep my immune system strong, avoid risky contacts and exercise good hygiene. I've managed well enough, so far, to stay healthy... touch wood.

There has been a huge, heartbreaking shift in our family dynamic. In the past six months, I have watched decades of emotional investment simply, silently slide down the drain.

I know that every family has some level of dysfunction that tends to rear its ugly head during the holidays. Ours is far more than just a little messed up. Somehow though, over the years, I had managed to pull our family together for holidays. We could all set our differences aside for a few days and enjoy each other's company over a bounty of delicious food. For the rest of the year though, one would be hardpressed to even know that we were family.

Last Christmas, my oldest brother actually made the statement that as far as he's concerned, our farm is actually that 'Home' that everybody talks about all the time... You know the one. When people say they are going 'Home for the holidays' and you can feel the connection to family and friends and warm, fuzzy memories of childhood? I remember feeling incredibly honored, accomplished, and complete.

You see, when T was but a toddler, my parents joined a cult. We didn't have holidays or birthdays growing up. We got to watch other families celebrate from afar. We were kept home from school on our birthdays, to avoid having someone wish us a happy birthday or, heaven forbid, give us a cupcake. Letters were sent to the teachers at the beginning of every year, forbidding our involvement in any holiday festivities. When our classmates were practicing for Christmas concerts, we were segregated to separate classrooms and given extra schoolwork.

There were eight of us kids, and as each of us hit our teenage years or adulthood we rejected the cult. Rejecting the cult also means rejecting your family. Those who remain 'in the Faith' are forced to view your exit as your death, and must no longer acknowledge your existence. With the exit of each of her children, my mother went into full-on grieving and could be easily reduced to tears at the mere mention of their names. I was only 2 years old when T left home, so I didn't really get the chance to know him until after I had flown the coop. As you can imagine, we never developed much of a bond with our siblings growing up. It's hard to connect to that 'birth bond' if it hasn't been nurtured from the beginning.

When I had my own children I was determined to give them the true sense of family that I never knew growing up. I worked hard at building loving relationships with those members of my family that were no longer in the cult. I even tried to encourage my children to forge special relationships with the family that still were tied to the cult, though that was unsuccessful. I dove into learning everything I could about holiday traditions and did my best to replicate them, although it usually felt like a farce.

My children have since grown into adults and holidays had finally become everything that I had dreamed of and worked for. Copious amounts of homemade and homegrown food adorned our table and the house overflowed with guests, to the point that some were bringing campers or staying in hotels in nearby towns. Children laughed and played, while great-aunts and uncles, and grandparents reminisced about 'the good old days' that hadn't really been all that great.

This Thanksgiving no one came. There were only four of us to attempt to consume the 35-pound turkey our neighbor had generously and lovingly raised for us. To say it was disheartening would be a monstrous understatement. My heart is shattered.

But that's just the kind of year it's been. You see, early this spring we lost another sibling. The second of eight to pass. He had been alienated from all of us for some forty years, so it wasn't truly like losing a brother.

Twenty years ago we had all been called to what we thought would be his deathbed. Only my parents, myself, and one other sibling made that fourteen-hour trip. My only reason for doing it was to make peace with a monster before it was too late.

My parents had flown out and arrived two days before me, but upon my arrival they caught the first plane home. They claimed that parents are not supposed to watch their children die. They said they knew that I could handle everything and they had already signed all of the necessary paperwork giving me full responsibility for all of his affairs and decisions pertaining to his care. They expected me to keep everybody posted. They knew full well what they were asking of me.

All of the family knew. He had molested me from the time I was four. My parents would unwittingly send us out to play and he'd take me by the hand down into the bushes behind our neighborhood. Boys would be lined up, sometimes as many as 15, awaiting our arrival. He had used me like currency to get drugs and booze, even after he had left our hometown. Drug dealers would snatch me off the playground or street because 'he owed them'. They'd have their way with me, then set me free with threats of death if I told.

Twenty years ago, I laid all those demons to rest. I made my peace. It wasn't for my brother, it was for me. I took back control of my life as I sat in that ICU watching as a ventilator kept him alive. I signed the papers to have him taken off of life support, all the while thinking, 'Take that, you bastard!' and laughing at the irony of it all.

Then he rallied. He didn't die. He came out of his coma. He woke to see me, and only me, at his bedside.

Two decades after his brush with death, he was still a self-centered asshole. He had spent all that time confined to a wheelchair and living in a long-term care facility. In the middle of a pandemic when ventilators were in short supply, he decided that aspiration pneumonia was a good way to get attention. His swallow reflexes had been weak since he'd come out of the coma twenty years ago. He'd been instructed to avoid certain foods, because he'd aspirate them into his lungs, causing pneumonia. At the peak of the pandemic, he started to have those foods delivered to him. He'd be rushed to the ER with pneumonia and intubated. As soon as he was released he'd do it again.

One might assume that he was suicidal. That was certainly not the case, for he fought tooth and nail with his medical team, refusing to sign off on his DNR. He fully expected doctors to do everything in their power to save him and he adamantly told them so, that was after all their job! Finally, the head of the ICU called to inform me that they had made an unprecedented, executive decision, in light of the pandemic. They would no longer be wasting a ventilator on him when they were so desperately needed by people who actually WANTED to live a quality life. Four days later, he died, alone, drowning in his own bodily fluids. Karma.

It once again fell to me to handle his affairs. I tracked down his children, who wanted nothing to do with any of it and contacted the rest of our family. I signed off on his cremation and made all of the decisions regarding his few belongings. When the time came for his Celebration of Life, I got a call providing the details, but also informing me that it would be best if I not attend, as it would make others uncomfortable. With that the bonds I'd worked so hard to forge with my extended family all but disintegrated.

So no one came for Thanksgiving. I don't think they'll come for Christmas either. I guess I'll have to re-think what the holidays are supposed to look like now. It wasn't until after the holiday long weekend that I could take a deep breath and realize that I'm probably better of without a family like that. I don't want a facade. Instead, I'll forge ahead focussing on the true, deep, and authentic relationships, after all, sometimes family isn't about blood at all.

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