My Family Forgot Me When I Needed Them the Most

During a time of grief and loss, my loved ones were barely present

Anonymous,

AARP

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Published October 09, 2024

a lone figure stands in the middle as crowds walk away from them

Laura Liedo

Welcome to Ethels Tell All, where the writers behind The Ethel newsletter share their personal stories related to the joys and challenges of aging. Come back each Wednesday for the latest piece, exclusively on AARP Members Edition.

I talk loudly. It’s common knowledge, and something I work to temper as much as I can, but the loudness is as ingrained in me as breathing. I joke that the reasons for this are twofold: At barely 5 feet tall, I can get lost in a crowd easily; and I come from a large family, and if I didn’t speak loudly, my voice would never be heard.

My mom was one of eight kids, my dad was one of three, and I am one of six. Most times growing up, our house was a hive of activity with any number of aunts, cousins and other ancillary relatives adding to the normal daily chaos. Ours was a blended family — my mother brought four girls from former marriages to her union with my dad, and he brought a son.

My siblings range in age from 16 years older to five years older than I, and I didn’t know what it was like to have privacy or be truly alone until I was 14 and my “youngest older sister” joined the military and moved out of the house.

Even then, my siblings (and those various other relatives) still figured prominently in my life — nieces and nephews adding to the mix, running through the house and causing chaos, leaving laughter in their wake. Somehow all of that has changed. And I find myself wondering if the peace I longed for as a child is less a blessing and more a curse.

Work, kids and life make us busy. That families grow apart is often a fact of life, and one I know I contributed to as my own children grew and my husband and I focused on our careers.

But my life has recently taken a turn that none of us saw coming. In the aftermath, I feel forgotten and alone. Feeling enveloped in the embrace of family — something I need more than ever — hasn’t happened.

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My husband was diagnosed with cancer in late 2022. He underwent treatment that required long hospital stays with me by his side, and he died in fall 2023.

While he was sick, I had one sister reach out somewhat regularly, one who sent messages through my mom and one who dropped a text message once a month. My brother and another sister didn’t reach out at all. My mom never calls me, so if I wanted to talk to her, it was on me. It has always been this way.

When my husband died, we held a celebration of life for him instead of a traditional funeral. It was scheduled two weeks from when he died, to accommodate our oldest son’s law school schedule and allow ample time for people to travel.

My mom came and two of my sisters. One sister claimed that she couldn’t come because she had out-of-town guests visiting — which I later learned was not true. The other sister announced on Facebook, “Wow — I just found out on Facebook that my brother-in-law died! Rest in peace!” but she never made any effort to contact me. Not once. An aunt shared the news with my brother at my request, but I have not heard anything from him.

Families are complicated. My relationships with two of my siblings have been strained for a while. But I always thought that given the times we’d rallied to support others as a family — through divorces and house fires and pregnancy losses and layoffs and other tragedies — in my time of need, that would come back to me as well. Because that’s what families do, right?

In the early months after my husband’s memorial service, I got a few calls from my mom, and one sister called biweekly. But almost a year after his death, I am more alone than I have ever been. I am back to having to initiate any type of contact with my mom, and I haven’t spoken directly to any of my sisters since June.

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I have friends and coworkers whom I interact with regularly, and my sons are probably a little more communicative than average college students (which is fine, there should be no pressure on them to keep me company), so I am not alone alone.

There’s nothing that can ease the ache inside for my soulmate. I find those of us in this unlikely position often say, “I’m lonely for my person. It’s different than just being lonely.”

I am also lonely for the family I had when I was young — for those sisters who would descend on me for life’s biggest moments, such as graduations and weddings and births, whether I wanted them to or not; for my mother who would insert herself into everything, whether I wanted her to or not; and for a house full of chaos and laughter and noise so loud I had to shout to be heard, whether I wanted to or not.

Now, the only voice I hear is my own. Even though I probably sound a little bitter, I’m working to make peace with that. Though the saying “You can’t choose your family” is true, I think it’s also true that you can build a chosen family. That’s what I am aiming to do. And maybe in this one, I won’t have to be the loud talker.

AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.

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