On Christmas Day 2017, after a morning spent opening presents, drinking prosecco and listening to The Pogues, my grandparents came round to enjoy lunch with my mum, dad, sister and me.
But as soon as they walked through the door, I immediately noticed my grandmother’s damp eyes and faltering smile.
I had never seen my nan cry – something was seriously wrong.
Not wanting to draw attention, she bustled through the door, chattering away. But I still saw a small tear slip from the corner of her eye.
A little later on, I overheard my grandad and dad chatting in the kitchen. The reason for Nan’s upset: she had not heard from my dad’s brother, my uncle. He hadn’t wished them a merry Christmas. No card, no text or call.
My uncle is the exact opposite of my dad.
Where my dad is loud and outspoken, my uncle is quiet and introverted. My dad has dark hair and a beard, my uncle is fair with glasses. And though my dad moved out, had children and has been married to my mum since his late 20s, my uncle lived at home, in his single bedroom, until his 40s.
Despite this, we were all very close when I was growing up.
He’d often babysit my sister and I and he regularly came on family holidays with us. He even let us put make-up on him, dress him up or carry one of us on his shoulders while my dad carried the other.
While he was quiet and reserved with others, he was funny and loving with me and my sister. In terms of immediate family, I have quite a small one – my dad’s brother is my only uncle as my mum is an only child.
However, all this changed when he met Claire* – a married (but separated) woman who was 15 years his senior and told crude jokes.
While he’d had brief relationships in the past, we immediately knew this was something different. They moved at lightning speed – and after no time at all, she was at my house on Christmas Day and was living with him in his first home. I couldn’t see my uncle without seeing her.
None of us were sure whether this was a good match though, especially as, not long after he and Claire got together, my uncle’s relationship with my family became tumultuous.
He grew distant from us all, barely calling round to see us or reaching out. A chasm opened that just seemed to grow bigger and bigger. My sister and I very rarely saw my uncle and if we did, it was only because we coincidentally went to visit my grandparents at the same time.
He very rarely visited my grandparents and, when he did, he would sit with his coat and shoes on and constantly glance at the wall clock like he had somewhere better to be.
While my grandfather was flippant and dismissive of his behaviour, my grandmother took it more personally. She became upset and agitated after every visit, with my family and I having to calm her down and soothe her each time.
Things took a turn for the worse when Claire became rude and disparaging to my nan and grandad. She didn’t agree with my grandad’s politics and she made it clear that she thought she was better than them.
As for my uncle, he sided with Claire, ultimately cutting all contact with my family.
I was only 14 at this time and I didn’t understand any of it. I couldn’t understand how he would leave my elderly grandparents to be with a woman we all thought was cruel.
While the disintegration of my uncle’s relationship with my grandparents was obvious to my sister and I (he was no longer spoken about it in our family and we did not see him at any family functions), my parents hid much of why from us – it wasn’t until my late teens I understood more about it.
He was the elephant in the room that we all tiptoed around
I felt a sense of loss, not only for the memories I could have had with my uncle but for the loss my grandparents have gone through – the loss of a son.
After that, I feel like I went through the seven stages of grief.
At first, I was angry at my uncle for doing this to my family. Then I was frustrated at my dad for not doing more, beseeching him to get involved and try to resolve these issues.
I was confused as to why he cut contact with me and my sister too, having no contact with him on our birthdays or at Christmas, and I was hurt that he could do such a thing. I was also incredibly anxious every time my family and I were together, worried that someone would mention his name and upset my grandmother.
He was the elephant in the room that we all tiptoed around at every family get together.
Finally, I had to accept that things would never be the same again.
It has now been seven years since my grandparents last spoke to their son, and it’s been even longer since my dad, sister and I have spoken to him.
Degrees of Separation
This series aims to offer a nuanced look at familial estrangement.
Estrangement is not a one-size-fits-all situation, and we want to give voice to those who’ve been through it themselves.
If you’ve experienced estrangement personally and want to share your story, you can email jess.austin@metro.co.uk
While I get sad thinking about the relationship I could have had with my uncle and how he’s missed not only the happy occasions like watching me graduate university and travelling the world but also not being there for the hard times like when my maternal grandmother died – it’s not me that I’m saddest for.
My grandmother has been affected by the estrangement the most and often flits between anger and sadness over the whole ordeal. One day she might tell me that she doesn’t want him at her funeral, but on another she might ask if she was a good mother.
She wrestles with guilt, insecurities and anxiousness about what she could have done differently and she is very aware of the all too short deadline she has to reconcile with him.
It breaks my heart to think that my grandmother, who is now 80, may not reunite with her son before she dies. I wish I could intervene, but after so many years, I am apprehensive to.
On one hand, I do not want to bring any more pain into my grandparent’s lives – what if he doesn’t reciprocate my olive branch?
But on the other, I feel obstinate and stubborn – why should I reach out when he seems unbothered with having no contact with his parents? He’s the one that broke this family apart, he needs to be the one to fix it.
The only silver lining is that, as devastating as it has been to stand-by and watch it unfold, his callousness has brought the rest of us closer together. In fact, I have more empathy and understanding for my grandparents than I ever thought possible.
Bitterness is an ugly emotion to hold on to, and I choose to let it, and my uncle, go for good. I’d rather focus on the family I do have and pouring all the love I have into them anyway.
*Names have been changed
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk.
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