Today was a blur of studying sociology, drinking water, tension with my mom, and wild Wallace. I studied for hours, constantly interupted, and then took the first half of the sociology exam with a crying Wallace on my lap. I still have to do the essay portion, which I hope to complete tonight before 10 and actually get to bed before 11. I then will have to throw myself into reading, 2 posts and comments, a quiz, and an exam for the women’s US history class all due over the next three days. Then I can list the books on Amazon and get a shipment out the door. Done.
As for my mom, I asked her to refer to my brother by his name and not with the title uncle. Eleven years ago, I disowned him when he refused to help me figure out what was going on with my mom (medication induced manic episode that put her in the hospital). I was in Chicago and no one would tell me what happened. He was high or something and hung up on me. That was my final straw on top of years of emotional and physical abuse by him. He never attempted to call me back, write a letter, or make ammends. He simply accepted it. About a year later I had an enlightening conversation with an uncle of mine about the very early years of abuse that I wasn’t aware of. And yes, this was all ignored, and still is, by my mom.
I had to see my brother a few times over the years and then when I moved back he was at the family functions on my mom’s side. Since I go to see relatives, I keep the peace but I do not pretend. Wallace met him for the first time that he remembers when my step dad died two summers ago. My mom started calling him uncle and I didn’t say anything because her husband just died after a year of complex and scary medical issues. Since then I have tried to lead by example and only refer to him by his name and I thought my mom caught on but she started up with uncle again. With Wallace in the room, I very calmly and nicely asked that she only refer to him by his name for Wallace. She conceded but it was so tense and still is.
He’s not my brother. He’s not welcome in my life. Someone who did and said the things he did isn’t welcome in my son’s life no matter how much genetic material we share. And honestly, the things my parents have done, the ways they have treated me, they shouldn’t be in our lives either. But I moved back, I tried to make things good, and I’m ready to be gone.