I should know you

Since I was six or seven years old there has been a mysterious family lurking in the wings of my life.  From time to time, I heard stories about these people, mostly of times long past.  I knew some of their names; I had a vague idea where they lived; but I knew no details about their lives and I never met them or even seen photos of most of them.

This family is my step-mother, Sharan’s family; more specifically, her mother, sister, and her sister’s family. 

I suppose every family has its rifts.  There are things that happen that cause people to go separate ways, or to limit contact with one another.  But a complete severance of ties between two sisters who were as close as twins for the first part of their lives is more than I have ever been able to comprehend.  The thought of being cut off from one of my own sisters hurts to think about.  The idea of being cut off from my mother is not something I can even allow myself to consider.

There are reasons why Sharan is not connected with her mother and sister.  As an adult, I can now respect that.  Over the years, I’ve poked and prodded into the stories of Sharan’s life.  I’ve asked endless questions, and Sharan has given me thoughtful, heartfelt answers.  But I’ve always been left with a feeling of unease, emptiness, and deep sadness about this other family that was once Sharan’s family.  I’ve Googled these family members.  I’ve imagined tracking them down in California.  I’ve had long mediation sessions with them in my mind, trying to bridge the gap and reunite these strangers with my step-mom. 

Recently, one of the grown children of Sharan’s sister contacted Sharan and Polly through Facebook.  Earlier this week, Polly and I spent an hour pouring over the photos of the newly “friended” daughter, Amy.  It was like peeking in the window of an enchanting stranger’s home.  We stared intently at each photo—individual shots and family shots, gasping, laughing, pausing, imagining what it would have been like to be a part of these people’s lives. 

Do they wonder about me?  Do they regret that they don’t know me or my brother, Brad, or Polly?  Do they miss Sharan?  Do they wonder about my dad, Sharan’s husband of over twenty-five years?  Do they feel as sad about this as I sometimes do?




Today I was picking up some groceries at Trader Joe’s in San Rafael.  I had heard from Sharan’s youngest sister, my dear friend Katharina, that two of the kids worked there.  In fact, a few months ago, I had stopped there with Katharina and we ran into the son, Anthony.  Katharina had made contact with him a few years ago and introduced me to him.  It was a highly unexpected moment and I was so shocked to meet the young man that I found myself shaking afterward.  I’ve thought about him every time I’ve driven past Trader Joe’s since that day.  And I also thought about his little sister, a recent high school graduate, who works there as well but was not there the day I met Anthony.

This afternoon, I asked the guy at the check out if Maddy was working today.  He said yes, and pointed towards the produce section.  After paying for my groceries, I grabbed my bags and headed the direction he indicated, just to see if I could catch a glimpse of her—if I could somehow recognize her.  The first girl I saw was her.  I knew it had to be.  She was tall, like many in Sharan’s family.  She was beautiful with long brown hair and striking golden-green eyes.  I gathered my courage and walked up to her.  “Hi, I wanted to introduce myself,” I said, without hesitation.  “I’m Emily.  Your mom and my step-mom are sisters.”

“Oh, wow.  Hi,” she said, with a warm smile and recognition of the strangeness of the moment. 

We chatted for a bit.  I would venture to say that we connected, looking into each other’s eyes trying figure out why we hadn’t met before this day. 

“Is your step-mom still back East?” she asked.

“Yeah, she’s still in Virginia.”

“I haven’t met her,” she reminded me.  I don’t know why, but this little reminder made me want to cry.  How is it that this beautiful girl who shares blood with Sharan could not know her?  How could she have missed out on the force of love and generosity that I know as Sharan?  How could that be?  I felt deeply sad for Maddy.  But I also feel sad for Sharan.  Sharan has never met this young lady, although I know she so badly wants to.  She hasn’t seen her stunning eyes.  She doesn’t know what makes her niece tick.  She hasn’t been able to send her gifts and take her out for adventures when she comes to town.  She doesn’t know her.

I guess everyone has their reasons for making certain decisions in life.  I guess there will always be disagreements that make us crazy with one another.  But I wish these decisions could be reconsidered.  I wish people could move on from things that have happened over a quarter of a century ago.  I wish forgiveness were a button I could push.  Life is a short, precious, uncertain journey and I hope one day it is a journey that my family can share with this mysterious family in California.