My age-old secret.

Remember, I was busting at the seams?

My mother is getting married in 38 days. I am happy for her. I really like Steve. I no longer entertain the idea of my parents ever getting together again. That was done, years and years ago. And, up until now, I've been really positive about this whole situation.

Okay, I've been walking on eggshells around the house, because I got a save-the-date card and really couldn't put it on the fridge. And I got a formal invitation to the wedding, but I couldn't leave it out anywhere. And I'm a bridesmaid, and I can't tell Dad how the dress search is going. And I had to book a flight to New Mexico, but I couldn't talk about the soaring cost of flights to Albuquerque. Not that my dad hasn't been dating someone for a really long time, or that he isn't a grown man who doesn't need to be protected. But I know my dad, and he's nostalgic for their marriage and the way things used to be.

My parents' marriage, as I experienced it, is only 20% of my life, really. I remember my parents talking in the front seat of the car as I slept in the back, my mom chewing watermelon and buttered popcorn jelly beans from Ogunquit. I remember Christmas mornings with Gumby and Pokey, and Irish soda bread with the Sheas, and Talking Heads dance parties, and Ring Around the Rosie. I remember my father's 35th birthday party, the day we got Sammy, training her to shut the door behind herself. I remember the day I asked permission to drink chocolate milk upstairs and instead sitting on my bed, talking about how things were going to change. I remember the feeling of chicken pox forming the day my mom moved out.

To hear my dad talk about it after dinner every now and again, they were the dream team, and very much in love. That's why they married less than a year after they met. That's why it wasn't so big a disappointment for my father to be leaving the Brothers for good. And I came along a few years later, and they were the dream parenting team. Every time we go to Doyle's, we hear the John and Eileen method of taking a kid out to dinner.

It's sad sometimes to hear my dad talk that way. A lot of family and friends tell me he never got over my mom, but I don't think that's true. The way my mom tells it, they sought counseling, and when they were asked to separate "loving each other" from "wanting to stay married". Mom says she said she thought she still loved him, but didn't want to be married to him anymore. She says Dad said the opposite. My dad is kind of in love with being in love, maybe, and forming habits with someone he cares about. I think that's reasonable, and not at all pathetic.

That aside, I haven't been nostalgic for that time of my life since I was eight, maybe. Today I found a picture of me and my parents. It was taken in Torrington, to the side of my grandmother's house on Chelton St. None of us seem to care that anybody might take our picture. We look so candidly happy - and to think all those years I never thought much of it.



So I guess in a way, the closer I get to my mom's wedding date, the more I come close to mourning my parents' marriage. What did Kubler-Ross says about grief - denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance? I'm beginning to think it's been an awfully long period of depression.

I'm glad I have my best friend as my date. Who knows how I'll feel in July.

Miss him, miss him...

At around 10 tonight, a call came through. I checked the caller ID and saw a Maryland number. Martha Mullen. Aunt Martha. My cousin calls her his stepmonster. I like her, but I can see why he'd feel that way. She's my uncle's keeper, and as a result, I never see him.

That's not entirely the fault of Aunt Martha. I only get two weeks of vacation, and I spend one with my mother in New Mexico, one with my father's family down the shore. Unless Uncle Jimmy shows up during that one-week window, another year will pass in which I don't see him. Usually, though, the reason he doesn't make that trip is because they're visiting Martha's kids in Myrtle Beach, or something.

He moved out of Chesapeake City about nine years ago, and I still haven't seen his new house.

This mostly sums up our relationship at the moment, I think. I love my Uncle Jimmy, enjoy his rare company, laugh and cry at his stories, and take the few things he says to me to heart. But he's never there, and in a family that is otherwise so tightly knit, it hurts to even admit that ours is a made-up relationship. One that should be, could be, but isn't, unless feigned in an awkward phone call.

That's why I wasn't going to pick up the phone. He was going to ask for Dad immediately, and Dad wasn't home, and so he'd be stuck making small talk with me for a whole two minutes. On the other hand, it was late, and it might have been an emergency. I picked up.

Me: Hello?
He: Jess? That you?
Me: Yeah, hi! How are you?
He: How you doing?
Me: I'm doing -
He: Your dad home?
Me: - alright.
He: Good, your dad home?
Me: No, he went someplace to watch the game.
He: Oh, he's not back yet, okay. I thought he would be by now.
Me: Guess not. Haven't seen him since he left, so...
He: So how are you making out up there?
Me: Alright, I'm making out alright.
He: Well good. You sound like you're doing alright. I'm gonna try your dad on his cell. Goodnight! Love you.
Me: Love you too.

I wanted to cry.

He's my godfather, and while that doesn't mean he would be particularly close to me (for instance, my other two godfathers never pay me any mind*), I would think it means at least that he somehow should be keeping track of what I do, to some degree. Occasionally my dad will tell me with much enthusiasm that Uncle Jimmy asked for me. When I ask for elaboration, it's usually, "we were on the phone, and he said 'How's Jess doing?'"

That's not enough. I miss my uncle, who I'm not sure I know anymore.


*Yeah, I have three godfathers. This one is the only blood-related uncle I have, so that makes sense. The other two were dating when I was born, and my mother thought it would be cool to have two gay godfathers. Since then, they broke up. One got married (to a woman), had kids, and moved to Wisconsin. The other is kind of a recluse without the first.

Thanks, that was fun.

The annual trip to Philadelphia this year was more fun than usual, mostly because I could escape the family and experience the city proper as it should be experienced by somebody my age. You know - ordering lagers like it's your job, not going home, clicking your heels in the street.

Well I click my heels. I think that's normal.

The family wasn't so bad, either. In the grand scheme of things, my family is not really one of those intolerably nutty and smothering clans that people make holiday movies about ("Fuller, go easy on the Pepsi!"), but since I am used to an unusually small family most of the time, entering into the loud Irish rabble can be jarring. Fortunately, Emily and I have made a habit of taking wine and cake into her room and listening to music while laughing at the drunken nature of our relatives. This year there was a lot of Yo La Tengo and Povel Ramel*.

Re-entry has been kind of ick, if only because everybody's stressed out and a day ahead of me in work acclimation. On the plus side, Andrea made me some new friends to add to my growing desk menagerie:

The big owl is Armen, named after our former buyback manager, who is the sweetest old Armenian I've ever met. The little fuzzies have yet to be named (any suggestions?), and the shark is due to be shipped out to New Jersey tomorrow.

*We bought his CD at Swede Things, since we had so enjoyed our last Scandinavian CD purchase. Because we didn't understand any of the titles on any of the CDs, we had to buy it based totally on his face.

A little more about my family.

I sent my mother the link to my grandfather's enlistment record online. I explained to her that Dad was unsure about the truth of both the age and marital status discrepancies. I thought she would find it interesting, as I did. I received the following email in response:

Hi Jess,
I know for a fact that Me-Mom and Pop-Pop didn't get married till he got back from the service, (Uncle Jimmy was almost 2) which is why there are no wedding photos. It was a shameful thing back then, and I discovered it the summer we visited Uncle Eddy and Aunt Betty in California (Aunt Betty told me -- ) Me-Mom never spoke of it to me, and I'm not sure if Aunt Grace even knows...your Dad didn't till I told him...years later...
So...tough news to be getting, eh?
I think that's when Uncle Jimmy and your grandfather had their falling out when he 'had' to get married, and Mom-Mom told him the family secret...but it's still pretty closeted...
I don't know who knows and who doesn't know...yikes!
Love you, we'll talk soon...face to face, no less!!!
Mom

This news isn't tough to get. What's tough to get is why I haven't heard this before. My grandparents are dead, and we live in a time and place in which this is not shameful as much as it is a frequent occurrence (especially in my family). I don't understand why this has been kept from me.

I had confronted my father with this and his answer was ambiguous. I'm an open-minded adult who can keep mum.

I think I'll dig around Aunt Theresa's basement soon.

And I really wish they had taken pictures.