Flying home

 

 

Flying home

LH470 FRA-YYZ

Heading back to Canada after around 10 days in Holland with brother and his family. There were, like many trips “home” in Den Haag, many moments that made me miss those days and life in Holland. I don’t know if these moments were triggered by flashbacks of those (more) care-free days of my teenage (and later adolescent) years, or a genuine longing for the quiet life in the city I lived so many years of my life year. Perhaps those nostalgic feelings springs from that sense of romanticism associated with “life is better on the other side”, which in turn comes from the fact that I have reached a point in my life in Canada (after a decade) that I’m settled and beginning to itch.

Certainly, things did appear different, in many a positive weis. Groceries for one is so much cheaper, and fresher… then there’s that ease of getting from place to place, many distances manageable by bike. Again, perhaps part of the “life is better on the other side”, I feel there may be more prospects of finding a partner starting life elsewhere, especially as after all these years, I remain pretty much alone and single. And the biggest lure of it all is of course my family. The joy and amazement of seeing and experiencing the growing up of my nephew and niece, being there at their important milestones of their little lives somehow seems so important, important enough that I can imagine myself moving back and getting a job in Europe again so I can play a greater role in their lives than the occasional visiting uncle from far awei who spends at most a week or two with them every year.

Part of this wish to have a greater role in their lives is perhaps knowing (or imagining) what fragile peace surrounds my nephew and niece due to the volatile relationship between my brother and my sister-in-law. Of course, what goes on in the relationship between two people, what goes on in another household, is none of my concern. And I vowed not to intervene or have too much input in what goes on. But what concerns me a lot is the children.

These past ten days, I saw and felt many moments that triggered flashbacks. In fact, every time I visit, there is a tension in the air, this worry that another outbreak of bickering or toxic tone will break lose. It’s been so long I did not feel that. But growing up, this kind of feeling, and a sense of guilt and hopelessness and helplessness filled me whenever dad and mum would argue. Often it is over such trivial issues. Often, it is simply because dad somehow has anger and mood control issues, and does not seem able to manage how he speaks. It’s not so much what is said (though often what is said is biting and just angry or negative…); it is more how things are said. A hint of condescension… a hint of accusation… a hint of guilt-tripping… a hint of everything-is-wrong-with-the-world. Before, it was dad. Now, it’s my brother, and he is a dad, and a husband. And those angry, ugly patterns of behaviour and mannerism are repeating and manifesting themselves in his family and in his relationship with his wife and his kids.

It saddens me greatly to see and hear this. it still triggers memories of tensions and bickering, angry exchanges of words over such trivial things like money, how much was spent on what. Can you believe that the fact that the inside of the car window being dusty was the source of two incidents of grumbling and anger? Can you imagine that on Christmas day, a  toxic mix of explosion of anger, shouting, accusations and attempts to force and find the truth broke out over how many bottles of shower gel were bought while we were shopping in Germany two days prior? And this was after a lovely dinner and evening of us (the three of us adults) bonding over wine and dessert while the kids played (or watched TV ) in the living room, during which I poured my heart out about what I wanted to say and let my brother know how sad and dangerously he is repeating all those mistakes our dad made that my brother had vowed before never to repeat.

I recounted stories of how dad did not even know where the chopsticks were, and would blame mum for switching them from place to place (…why would anyone do that? It’s not a store trying to get people to buy more stuff…); I recounted the hardship and at times insult that mum endured going out to work for very little money, and how she would come home so late at night (and I would wait for her, and hug her tightly by the legs whenever she came home from work, in the dark, from the cold…). With wine loosening my inhibitions, I bluntly blurted out that brother hated dad—the relationship was beyond repair and so extremely poor—would he want to have a repeat of that with his own son?

I said all this not out of spite, but out of genuine concern…I don’t want the kids to grow up being estranged from their dad, and I don’t wish things to evolve in such a way that my sister-in-law has to endure the kind of lack of appreciation, lack of warmth and compassion that mum put with for decades… kids deserve to grow up in a family, in a household filled with love and kind words; they deserve to grow up learning that the way to speak to and treat one another is kindly and with respect, and not with anger, disdain or lack of any regard for one’s feelings or the greater circumstances of why someone may do or say something in a certain way that may not necessarily be to one’s liking. And a marriage should be based on trust, on dialogue, on respect for one another, on sharing and carrying the burdens of child-rearing and household maintenance together as a couple.

I did what I could do, I said what I wanted to say. Leaving this morning, I left cards for everyone under the little Christmas tree that I bought. Personal messages to everyone… to my niece, reminding her to stay the sweet and good girl she is, and to eat more; to my nephew, wishing him lots of luck in school (as he is struggling a bit with Dutch language since they do not speak it at home), and telling him to be good with his sister, with his parents; to my sister-in-law, thanking her for her patience, and acknowledging and appreciating the frustrations and sense of helplessness she must feel at times (or often…?), and reminding her that if there is anything at all she needs, she must reach out to me… (again, in an echo of the past, the message to my sister-in-law is so similar in tone and in the message itself to the messages I wrote to mum many, many times before. Some of these are contained in letters written on yellowed paper, many of which have been placed in safekeeping in boxes throughout the years; some of which may be in the suitcases that I am carrying back with me). To my brother, I reminded him of what a lovely family he has, reminded him to appreciate all that he has, and how much our parents have given us so we can have a comfortable and less worrisome life; I reminded him that we are family, and we are the only family we have left…

Who knows what effect my words, gestures, and very presence may have had over these past week or so. Who knows whether the words on the greeting cards (peace doves, symbolically, drawn by Dick Bruna) I penned would have any effect or resonate at all…

But all I could do is try. And hope. And wish. And pray that people will change, people will see that love and being there for one another, being peaceful and equal partners in life, whether as husband or father, whether as wife or mother, matters a lot.