When I first met them, they lived in Manteca, California.
California is mostly where they've always lived. I met Sam's parents, and a few of his younger brothers and sisters, that first Christmas after his mission where Sam proposed to me, and we agreed to marry.
What was your relationship with them, and your spouse's family?
It seemed to start out very well.
Except for my father, the rest of my family had never had any trouble getting along. We were very close and good friends with each other, and I couldn't envision being a part of a family that was anything other than that. Somehow, it didn't occur to me that different families could feel differently.
Sam's father played the guitar, and seemed solicitous and charming. His mother also; we got along famously. The younger kids smiled and talked to me in a teasing way about their brother, and then Sam would grow unaccountably angry and chase them away from me, for seemingly no reason.
That was the first red flag I didn't recognize....
Later on, when we were in our own home and would talk about his family, he would tend to dismiss the entire conversation with 'I don't care...'
This seemed very unlike him, as my experience with him was that he was compassionate and cared very deeply about people and issues. This piece of him didn't seem to fit with the others.
It took a long time, and many conversations, for his past to unfold before me, and without going into details that aren't really mine to share, it wasn't pretty.
I started to understand just how much baggage he carried from his past...from painful interactions and dysfunctional dynamics within his family. All that had shaped him in such a profound way, sometimes for good and sometimes not-so-good.
I still hoped for a happy in-law relationship with them, though, and I did try, from a distance, to create something positive. Sam refused to live closer to any of them, and if even half of what he told me was true, I couldn't in good conscience argue the point.
After awhile though, the kids of the kids grew up, and in growing up, they revealed the painful truth of what had been happening behind closed doors and online smiles.
His father passed away, and we couldn't make it to the funeral - Sam was able to visit him before he passed away, but couldn't bring himself to make it to the funeral itself. Marriages suddenly ended without explanation, except in whispers, and then new marriages just as suddenly sprung up in their stead. Suddenly, one affair became three affairs, and families completely ruptured. Hospitalizations and suicide. The aftershocks of such revelations were horrific, and there was nothing I could do to help. Sam was overwhelmed, and when he tried to help, it either seemed not enough or way, way too much.
Eventually, our help was no longer wanted.
After that, our very presence caused offense, and 'compliance' was demanded. We were no longer acceptable company unless we molded ourselves and our ideas to their standards.
And I knew then it was over.
I mourned as we disconnected. We let almost everyone go. There was nothing else to do, other than fight over the computer forever or pretend to be someone we weren't.
We still keep in touch with one or two of his seven siblings today, but the others have gone silent in our lives. We still keep in touch with his mom, on holidays. But every contact starts to feel like the ripping off of a bandage that covers a festering wound that we are unable to heal.
All this makes me even more grateful for my own crazy mom and siblings. They are a drink of water in the desert of family, for both me and my husband, who has been generously adopted as one of their own.
Tentatively, that is. I think sometimes they're still not sure what to make of him or us, but they do make an honest effort, and for that I'm very grateful.
Family is never easy, but it sure is a relief when it works...
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