The Family I Never Had

All I remember was my uncle at his feet crying, my mom was running around the house losing her shit and my grandmother was… peacefully doing the dishes. I was 5 years old. Confused and feeling that my grandfather's weight was too heavy for me to occupy, I crawled out from underneath him and watched him as he laid there quietly, no emotion, on his back, on the floor. Why is he laying there like that? Why is my mom crying again? Why is Mom-Mom NOT crying? (My Mom and Mom-Mom will probably be a topic for another story) I later learned that Pop-Pop had a heart attack in the hallway and collapsed on top of me. I must’ve been following him out of or into his bedroom when I suddenly felt the weight of a big man falling towards me. I can’t remember if it was his front or back but I remember the feeling … the heavy feeling of someone who made me feel safe, was gone. 

Death was kind of a thing in our family. I’d overhear family friends arguably discussing if our family was cursed or not while having greens and friend chicken in the kitchen (you cannot F*&% with my mom’s fried chicken). As a child I didn’t understand what they were talking about, but now as an adult … I kinda think my family may have had a curse. As a child, I lived in fear that my mom would die and because she slept a lot due to her mental illness & the cocktail of big pharma meds she was on, there were many times I’d shake her to wake up and she wouldn’t. She was sleeping, but because of the meds, she was unable to wake up and my childhood self was often scared that one day my little hands, shaking my mother violently, would end in her not responding.  

My dad, John Nelson (which is where I get my name JON-ENE. My mom took the H out because she didn’t like the way it looked when you wrote it in cursive. Little did my mom know that cursive is a lost art and adding the H would’ve kept everyone from messing up my name)  passed away when my mom was 3 months pregnant with me.

His death took the possibility of ever meeting my father

Pop-Pop came next with a heart attack. He was only 55, in great shape and I’m pretty sure stress killed him. 

His death took my safety away.

Mom-Mom passed away about 10 years ago and lived to be about 90. 

What she took when she passed was the feeling I had of being nurtured. 

Loretta, my mom, left me about 6 years ago and her death made me realize that the hope I had for ever repairing our relationship was gone. 

From an early age people gave me sad eyes when they found out my dad was gone. “O MY GOD YOU POOR THING” which was hard for me to register as a young kid because I didn’t understand, exactly, what I was missing. I don’t remember what my mom would tell people, but the feeling of pity seemed to follow me around.

We had Thanksgivings and Christmases at my grandmoms and we all sat around the table acting like a functional family but it didn’t take much for my mom or living uncle to say something that triggered the rest of the family into a full blown fight. Like the time my mom mentioned that my Uncle was sleeping with one of my Aunts that he wasn’t married to as everyone sat in the living room watching the Thanksgiving Day game. 

Disfunction at its finest. Happy Holidays.

As I’ve gotten older I realize what I was missing: the nuclear family unit. I’ve never had one. The safe space you have with other people that enable you to go out into the world without fear. The space that’s saved for traditions and rituals. After my dad died, my mom’s mental illness and drug addiction took hold so we were never as close as I’d like. We had our moments and there was no doubt that my mom loved the sh!t out of me, but the bond was never created. The talks I’d wish we’d had, the brunches I wish we could’ve gone to together, to pick up the phone and call my mom when I had a problem? I missed that growing up. I’ve been blessed to have a couple partners whose families have taken me in like one of their own and friend groups? I’m the QUEEN of creating close knit friend groups. They’ve continued to act as my makeshift family until now. 

I have a nuclear family that consists of Marc, LaLa and I. The unit that makes me feel safe and allows me to know that I always have somewhere to go to be loved. We’re creating all of the things I wasn’t able to create with my mom: we have game nights, we read to LaLa every night before bed, we set goals together, Marc even makes us all walk the dog together because it’s a way for us to spend time with one another … that real family stuff. Marc is THE most nurturing person in the world (my grandmother), his chivalry has no end (my dad), I always feel safe with him (my grandfather) and his emotional intelligence is top tier (my mom). I believe my family was up there making sure that the next man in my life would have all the characteristics they gave me. 

And all this time I didn’t realize that most of my life I was grieving a family unit that I never had.