LETTING GO OF OUR ADULT CHILDREN
Chapter 9: Closure When Reconcilliation Is Not Possible
Page 27
BY ARLENE HARDER, MA, MFT
Chapter 9 of Letting Go of Our Adult Children, in which you can learn how to let go with love when true reconciliation is not possible.
The hardest worker may not get a promotion. The most dedicated runner may not win a race. The most ardent suitor may not win the object of his affection. Doing our best does not mean we will always get what we want.
Some disappointed parents have done all they can to mend their family rift. They stopped trying to change their son or daughter and have worked on those things that kept them overly concerned about their child's current problems. They have forgiven themselves and their child, have mourned the loss of the dreams they had for their family, and have sincerely tried to let go with love. Yet their child may still choose not to include them in his life.
Sometimes it is parents and siblings who decide to distance themselves from an adult child who is extremely disruptive to family harmony.
Laura Morgan's sister had a twenty-year history of schizophrenia, compounded by alcohol and drug abuse, a situation Laura described in a commentary she wrote for The Los Angeles Times. Despite years of therapy and the consistent emotional and financial support of her family, her sister became increasingly delusional and violent, striking their mother on several occasions and stealing from the family to finance her drug habit. Unable to take (or give) any more, their mother packed up and moved to the Midwest two years ago. At the same time, Laura moved and got an unlisted phone number. She and her brother told their sister not to contact them. It was time for the family to cut their losses, realizing, finally, that it was a question of survival Ñ hers or theirs. The last that Laura heard about her sister, she was living on Skid Row. That is clearly not the happy ending any family wants for one of its members.
There is a limit to what parents can handle. Just as children have rights, parents have a right to be protected from the verbal and physical abuse of their children. Yet the decision to cut off relations with our children is not done without a great deal of anguish. Even then, knowing we are doing the right thing in distancing ourselves from our child does not take away the pain.
In some families parents do not have a chance for reconciliation, even if they have moved through all the stages on their path of healing. Their child may have left home years ago and disappeared, offering them no opportunity to work things through. Or their child may have died from an accident, homicide, suicide, or sudden illness before they had time to heal a torn relationship.
Not all situations that appear non-reconcilable, of course, will remain that way. Ivy, a woman I interviewed, told me that she and her husband, George, had spent many sleepless nights worrying about their only child, Ben. They had once given up hope that he would turn his life around. Their son was a heavy drug abuser who had alienated himself from his parents until, in his mid-forties, he had a child of his own. Apparently at the prodding of his wife, he sent pictures of his baby, a grandchild Ivy and George hadn't seen. The letter accompanying the picture of smiling parents and offspring stated that he now realized what it meant to have a child, adding something about how much his parents had meant to him. The new relationship is still tenuous, although there is hope it can be further repaired. Nevertheless, while Ivy and George can now breathe a little easier, at one point they had to accept, for their own peace of mind, that their child was alienated from them and that, very possibly, they would never see him again.
Unless your child has died or is completely incapacitated, there is always the possibility of reconciliation. But counting on that possibility can prevent you from ever releasing your pain and really getting on with your life.
Closure means "closing or being closed; a finish; end; conclusion." In the case of broken relationships, it is, as a friend of mine said, suturing a wound so that it can heal. Closure does not mean you write off your child forever. Instead, it is the willingness to gently close a door to the past, allowing the possibility of opening new doors for reconciliation in the future.
Stumbling Blocks to Closure
Why do the doors that need to be closed to broken relationships remain open, the wounds unsutured? There are many reasons, of course, but two common ones are the context in which we hold our pain and the way in which we expect ourselves to be judged as parents.
Defining Ourselves by Our Pain
We all know people who describe problems in their life as though their problems, pains, and sorrows are the only things worth knowing about them. My friend, Wini Pyle, however, is very different. Happening to call while I was writing this chapter, she told me that "different parts of my life are functioning at different levels." Her body isn't doing as well as she would like, her love life and spiritual life are great, her job is still rewarding. And she also feels sad, sometimes, because her only daughter has not been in contact with her for two years and will not even give her a phone number where she can be reached.
Wini told me that every day she releases her child, opening the door to the possibility that her daughter may choose to write her or otherwise reopen the relationship. In the meantime, my friend provides a wonderful illustration of the way in which we can view alienation from a child in a healthy way.
Certainly it is healthy to acknowledge our loss and pain from time to time. Yet we must also remind ourselves that that relationship is only part of who we are. There are other aspects to us as well. We do not need to display our pain like a giant sign across our chest, as Hester Prynne is compelled to do in The Scarlet Letter.
Defining Our Worth by How Our Children Turn Out
Some parents are unable to close the door on irreconcilable differences with their adult children because of the standards by which they believe others will judge them. These standards include the expectation that they, alone, are held accountable for their family's rift, as though they should have been able to control both sides of that relationship. They expect they will be found worthless if their child is not reconciled with them, or if he doesn't turn out the way they, and possibly others, might wish.
Many parents won't let go of their child — and won't allow their wounds to heal — because they believe their best wasn't good enough and because they hope, in some vague way, that by holding on they can somehow make up for past limitations. When I talk with these parents, I tell them about the reports that have been gathered of people who have had "near-death experiences." I share with them my fascination in one particular aspect of "NDEs" as they are called. This is the account given by those individuals who have met a "being of light" or "wise being" as they waver between life and death.
If this "being" talks to the person only two questions are asked. One is, "Did you love?" The other, "Did you learn?" Notice that the questions are not: "Were you a good parent?" "How many possessions did you accumulate?" or "What side of the abortion issue were you on?"
NDEs are mysterious phenomena. There are those who accept them as evidence of life on the other side of death and those who say they're nothing more than hallucinations induced by trauma. Whatever the truth, it is most interesting that, at what could be the end of their lives, so many people with widely varying life experiences focus on the issues of loving and learning.
What higher goals could anyone have than to live as though the two most important things in life are to love and to learn?
If parents would accept that philosophy, we could more easily address the issue of failed relationships. Then we would know that we have done our best if we have loved our child. We have done our best if we have learned from our experience as a parent. We cannot do better than our best. Nor are we expected to.
An Exercise for Healing Broken Relationships
Three years ago I attended a conference at which I participated in a lovely guided imagery exercise that was designed to help participants view broken relationships in a new way. Some of the workshop participants used it to work on letting go of a loved one who had died. Others, such as myself, used it to better accept a relationship in which there did not seem to be a possibility of directly resolving differences between us and another person. At that time I didn't know where David was, so this exercise seemed especially appropriate.
Since then I have adapted the exercise in several ways and have used it for a variety of clients. This guided imagery exercise can provide you with insights you had not previously known about another person or about yourself. It can help you discover aspects of the relationship you can change without requiring the other person to change. And it can allow you to become more accepting of the other person in ways that, until now, you have not been able to see. You may want to use this exercise for people other than your adult child, such as an ex-spouse and ex-friends.
If you have not done imagery before, be assured that this process does not "force" you to go someplace in your mind you do not want to go or do something you do not want to do. Everything that happens to you will be what you decide and what is best for you to gain from this experience. Imagery exercises are valuable because they make use of the healing metaphors and imagery of the right brain, by-passing the more structured analysis of the left brain that sometimes insists there is only one way to view a situation.
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© Copyright 1994, Arlene Harder, MA, MFT, Reprinted with permission
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