For several years now, I’ve used the phrase familiar strangers to refer to what’s left of my so-called “family” (parents, aunts, uncles being long gone). It has been an attempt to characterize more succinctly the nearly non-existent relationship I’ve had with people in my family tree. I barely knew them in my childhood and I don’t know them now (their choice, never mine). It’s an apt catchphrase and my therapist always got a kick out of it, in spite of its somber implication.

This is How We Did It

Our parents regularly socialized with each other: they packed us into the family cars, mostly in the summer, and hauled us off to their siblings’ summer camps and various barbecues. Summer picnics at Aunt Vic’s camp deep in the woods of western MA, where we picked wild blueberries to go with her homemade vanilla ice cream. Or Uncle Connie’s cabin in Vermont, where we rode his tractor through thick fields of red clover that seemed to never end. Or at uncle Norman’s property, where we barbecued and took turns riding his mini bike.

This is my generation: we showed up for weddings (all done with these) and funerals (more of these now, sadly); some send the yearly Xmas card (with no note, just a “Merry Xmas!” and a signature) and…well, nothing else in between. I mean NOTHING. Not a peep in between the occasional obligatory events that brought us together for short reunions.

The Reality of Disconnect

Yet we always picked up right where we left off from the last gathering – which, in my case, turned out to be my mother’s graveside service in May 2004. They were all so darned familiar. Yet there was this strange disconnect: I couldn’t tell you what most of them did for work; what their favorite color was; a favorite food; what kind of music they listened to…

Once my maternal grandparents were gone, it all went away. Poof. No more gatherings, no more holidays, no more barbecues. Nothing. I still don’t understand… It’s like a social gene in our family DNA didn’t make it to my generation…

Movin’ On…

After years of trying unsuccessfully to wedge myself into their lives (and them into mine), I’m backing off. I’ve put in too much effort with no result. It’s called ‘CPR-ing’ a relationship; where you alone keep it alive. I haven’t told any of them that I’ve moved home. I’m not sure I will tell them.

Because they are strangers. Familiar strangers.