Picking My Battles; a Question of Grief

There aren't many times in life when one is compelled to swallow one's pride and take the high road in a unique situation of no one's choosing.  The events of this next weekend become one of those for me.

My former stepson died in late December, 2012, of a particularly virulent form of cancer that takes no prisoners.  Eric passed after a year-long battle with the disease that had been pronounced "terminal" from the very beginning.  Eric was cremated.  His memorial services--one in northern Indiana and one in Detroit--will take place this weekend.  What to do? 

Eric's father and I have been divorced since 1991.  For the thirteen years before that, I was Eric's stepmother.  After that date, I was demoted to "friend".  Since his father--my former husband--remarried three months later, I didn't even have the honor of being nominated as Stepmother Emeritus before the stepmother job was filled again.  In light of all of that, I didn't see Joe's children all that much.  They were adults and had moved on in their own lives.  And my daughter Megan--their half-sister--didn't see them much, either.  In some respects, Megan and I were personae non grata.  She was left out, and so was I.  I'm not sure the others left Meg out intentionally.  I just think the whole situation was just so dysfunctional that we both learned to accept the unacceptable.  Still, we both cared about Eric and Stephanie.  We saw them and communicated when we could.

I was at Megan's, sitting on my grandson's bed on my computer in the early morning of December 27th when the news came through: "We lost Eric this morning."  Meg emerged from her bedroom shortly.  We hugged, both of us wondering how to comfort each other--she as the outsider half-sibling, and me as the outsider former parent.  I had decided many months before just to do what I needed to do to support her.  Apparently, she was thinking the same about me.  She rubbed my back and said how unfair it was that I was the forgotten mourner.  That was all I needed to get by. 

I wish I could say the same about my relationship with her father.  Somehow, although he was the one that strayed from the marriage and he was the one who wanted the divorce (although he never said so in words), I became the enemy.  It's all part of the crazy-making that caused me to distance myself from him, especially in light of the insane ways he carried on.  I think, somehow, he just wanted me to disappear and/or forgive his indiscretions, even though he steadfastly refused to resolve things with honest communication about them.  I know he thinks he has grievances against me, for which I have answers, but it was never productive to attempt to engage him in conversation about all of that.  I just let it go.  Maybe I shouldn't have because he still treats me as an enemy to his well being, although I have no feelings at all toward him.  That's what divorce is all about.  But here we are.  His son has died.  The services are coming up.  And I have had to make a choice about what to do.

I have chosen not to go.  I explained to Eric's wife that I won't be there, and why.  She wasn't happy about my decision.  I have a personal invitation from Eric's mother to be there.  There is a part of me that wants to say, "Damn the torpedoes; full speed ahead!  I have as much right to be there as anyone else."  But the "hero" part of me says no.  As much as I would like to be there to help celebrate the life of my former stepson, I am aware that his father would be uncomfortable with my presence, which would make my daughter uncomfortable.  And I'm not going to do that to her.  Things are dicy enough without my presence.  So, at the risk of making myself seem uncaring to others, I am deliberately staying away, with all due respect to him and his family.  I hope they come to understand why. 

In the grand scheme of things, I actually doubt anyone will miss me.  I'm not stupid enough to think I'm that important.  Still, my presence will be felt, and I can live vicariously through that.  The services/celebration of life will and should be about Eric.  Not Eric's dad.  Not me.  Not anyone else with an ax to grind.  And so it will be.  Party on, fellow mourners.  Eric wanted it that way!