The Hole

Holidays and special occasions are the worst times for me lately. The drama-fest that is my recent life makes me feel like a circus freak. An early morning police raid isn’t one of those things that most families have dealt with, and the fallout was quick and brutal. I didn’t want to talk about it with anyone, let alone my family. I wrote a lot, and let the faceless internet read it. I may know people online, but their judgement is different than the judgement you get from your family.

At Christmas, when everything was so fresh and raw and up in the air, I was dreading the annual Happy Family Show. I asked my sister, who hosts Christmas dinner, if the story was making the rounds in the family. I wanted to be prepared for questions. She assured me that the only people who knew the story were our parents and my brother-in-law, and promised that nothing was going to be said. She didn’t want drama, and if anyone brought it up she was going to shut that shit down. And so Christmas went off without a hitch.

I was miserable the entire time.

I went to my first Christmas without him, sat there alone and watched my nephew play with a couple of his new toys. The gifts that I’d brought were still wrapped – he’s the age where he knows that it’s a special day and the excitement was so overwhelming that most of the gifts hasn’t been opened – and I had made sure to let my sister know which ones were from me because I didn’t put a card on them. I couldn’t. I couldn’t write out a card and sign it “from Auntie Crystal”, because I can’t have both our names on it.  Every Christmas card I got was addressed to me and only me.  It was only immediate family there but it felt, and still feels, like there was an enormous piece missing from the holiday.  We all knew what was missing and why the hole was there, but everyone stepped around the hole and no one said anything about it.

Last weekend was my nephew’s third birthday, and it was time for another performance of the Happy Family Show.  Unlike Christmas, where everyone spent it with their own immediate family, this was one of those times where everyone got together in one place. 

And once again, I was alone.

At Christmas, I was prepared.  I had a plan.  In my mind, there were two potential scenarios.  Anyone who knew the story wouldn’t be asking why I was alone and where he was.  If they didn’t know and asked where he was, then those people wouldn’t know any different and just take my reply of “he’s not feeling well” as the truth.

I was at the birthday party for about an hour or so before I realized that no one had asked why I was there alone.  Even then, it didn’t cross my mind that they might actually know what I’ve been dealing with the last two months and weren’t just assuming he was at work.  It wasn’t until I was plotting my escape from the horde of toddlers that it became abundantly clear that they know.  An uncle that I see maybe once every two years had been chatting with me about our common profession when he asked “so when are you going to be moving to your mom’s in Florida?”

They all knew. 

I made it clear that a move is not currently in the plans. 

On Monday, I sent a text to my mother about the situation.  I’m disappointed that they’re all talking about it.  She explained that she’s not surprised.  This isn’t something we’ve ever had happen in the family, and no one knows how to deal with the situation.  They all appreciate that this is a difficult time and she and my sister don’t want anyone saying anything hurtful to me.

It’s not that it’s hurtful, really, I typed. I just feel like my life is the car wreck that everyone on both sides of the highway is staring at, and everyone is just shaking their heads saying “why doesn’t she just get out of the car?“

I left the party a little while after I got the question.  I knew that there was no one there who didn’t know what had happened.  Everyone in that room knew about the raid, the arrest, everything.  Everything.  I’m sure they all know about all the other dirty laundry that went on in the past as well.  It’s one thing for me to go on a 36-hour stream of consciousness writing binge and air it all out on a blog, but it’s another thing for them to talk about it all and speculate behind my back.

From here on out, no one gets any info.  Part of me thinks it makes sense, don’t tell anyone anything and there won’t be anything to gossip about.  Another part thinks that would just lead to more speculation.

Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.