There is still sadness as I recall the Last Dinner with my Step-brothers. Perhaps it's about time I create peace for myself as an act of self-love.
When the menu landed in my hands, my heart stuttered, caught off guard by the numbers that leapt from the page. The prices—exorbitant, alien—made me catch my breath. A la carte dinners stretched from $59 to $81, veggie sides at $13, and a single glass of wine, a staggering $20. For the nine of us, the bill would spiral past $1,000. The question echoed in my mind, “Why?” But then David, my stepbrother, lifted his glass, and his voice cut through the confusion. He toasted to Ben, my nephew, who had just left us—honoring the life that had drawn us all together. In that moment, a wave of calm swept over me. “How kind,” I thought, my heart softening. “What a beautiful sentiment.”
Debra, David’s wife, took her turn, raising her glass to celebrate the Toledo Trio—me, my sister Rhonda, and my brother Bruce. Her words, laden with gratitude, spoke of our patience, our commitment, our love in caring for Judy, our stepmother. She praised our calm, a stark contrast to the hysteria that often colored conversations about Judy. When Debra confessed to being lazy, impatient, and quick-tempered, I was struck. “Whoa,” I thought, the realization hitting me with force. “We’re blending—me, Rhonda, Bruce—blending with Mark, David, and Debra!” It was a connection I had yearned for, craved, for over fifty years, a bond that had always slipped through my fingers, until now.
There I sat, soaking in a sensation I had only ever dared to imagine. For the first time, I felt like I belonged with my step-family. I was not just at the table; I was part of it, one of Judy's children. I felt pride swelling in me, a sense of integration that was foreign and yet so welcome. And, most astonishing of all, I felt the absence of my usual shadows—the feelings of unworthiness, of inadequacy. This realization, this warmth, was more surprising than the eye-watering prices on that menu.
My brother was beside me. Our eyes met in a moment heavy with meaning, a pause thick with unspoken words. Then, shattering the silence, he spoke. “You were wrong,” he said, his voice steady but piercing. “You poisoned us with your thoughts. It was never how you saw it, and you tainted us all.”
His words froze me, disbelief crashing over me like a cold wave. My body went still as he repeated them, louder, more insistent. I don’t know if anyone else heard. Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t. The only conclusion I drew was that my brother longed for family perhaps even more than I did. .
Shortly after that night, my Step-mother Judy passed. After her funeral, I
have not seen or heard from Mark, David or Debra.
Today I release all the sadness stored in my body, the sorrow of not being able to develop a relationship with my step-brothers.
This was something I really wanted that never came to be. Not because I did something wrong or didn’t measure up. It was for reasons I’ll never know.
Today I am making peace with myself. Even though this was a long haul, it feels like the point.
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