Fact, Fiction & Family: A Sister's Perspective on Conflict, Communication and Care Giving

By Mary L. Currier

This is a true story of a familys attempt at working together to care for aging parents. It involves four adult siblings, two parents, some anger, resentment, love and joy. There are tears, astonishment, sleepless nights, laughter and a whole lot of conflict, quiet and otherwise.
Mary L. Currier shares her insight, beliefs and professional experiences to normalize conflict between adult siblings. She explains that families are often no strangers to conflict. Rather, they may be strangers to managing that conflict. Or perhaps its more of an unwillingness to slip into the deeper crevices of those sticky issues that form the patterns of communication, therefore creating conflict. Either way, there is often a deeply imbedded cycle of poor communication that courses through family veins.
Youd think that blood relatives would have a comparatively easy time sorting out issues of conflict. Youd think that four siblings would share similarities in problem solving techniques. That is not the case in this family. What first appeared as a moderate challenge evolved into a lifelong lesson requiring patience, self-understanding, unconditional love and an unending supply of forgiveness.
As anxiety, Alzheimers, depression, and cancer, come out from behind the shadows, each family member acts, or reacts, as only they can - with the skills they have cultivated. Does that work for them? Not always.
This is a wonderful tool for adult siblings thinking about how they will sustain their relationships with one another as they venture into the care giving process. Mary even offers troubleshooting guidance in an effort to improve skills in communications and conflict resolution in hopes of sustaining adult sibling relationships.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 9, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452012827

Mary L. Currier

Mary L. Currier holds a master’s degree in mediation and applied conflict studies from Woodbury College. She works as an independent consultant in communications and conflict resolution. She lives with her family in Vermont.

Book preview

FACT, FICTION

And

FAMILY:

A Sister’s Perspective on Conflict,

Communication

and Care Giving

Mary L. Currier

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2010 Mary L. Currier. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 6/3/2010

ISBN: 978-1-4520-1282-7 (ebk)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-1280-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-1281-0 (hc)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

Introduction

Part One

Part Two

Acknowledgements

References

In order for change to be possible, one must open herself/himself up to vulnerability. In order to be vulnerable, one must trust. In order to trust, one must feel safe. How do we find that safety?

My hope is for this book to be a resource for those seeking that source of safety.

For privacy reasons names have been changed.

To my father

Introduction

Conflict is normal. I get it! It’s the communication around the issues that is so perplexing. Some of us in my birth family get worked up over something, rant and rave about it and never speak of it again. I’m not even sure where it went. All I know is that it’s gone – for the moment anyway. But, like a shark just below the waterline, waiting in hunt, it bites us at the most vulnerable time, adding a healthy dose of confusion and contempt to the murky waters we swim in together.

It would be wonderful to be perfect in our relationships. And, essentially, we may in fact be just that. Each of us within our family has our role. And no one can play that role better than we can. The key is to understand each of these roles better and to unite the strengths in each of us while being mindful of the weaknesses that exist. It’s oftentimes much easier to recognize the strengths in ourselves and the weaknesses in others. It’s this perception that can bog us down. It’s okay to have weaknesses. It’s okay to be vulnerable. It’s okay to get upset.

When formulating my ideas for this book, two primary thoughts came to mind: first, that my own personal family conflict experiences could and should be used as a resource for others; second, the conflict resolution process within a family can dart back and forth between perceived fact and fiction quite effortlessly. This darting process, in itself, can wear and tear and become a destructive force that breaks a family apart.

We can’t divorce our siblings. Our relationships with them are permanent ones. So, why not acquire the skills and understanding necessary to develop healthier relationships with these important people in our lives? Chances are our lives are busy enough. Why complicate them with unresolved feelings and unnecessary conflict?

Part of the communication struggle lies in the frustration that we can be so different from our siblings. It’s not as simple as: We’re related so why don’t we think and act the same? This mindset can lead to endless feelings of frustration, anger and hurt. Add to this the highly sensitive issues surrounding caring for aging parents and you have a time bomb – a sure recipe for disaster within your family.

My initial intention was to create two separate pieces of work. One was to be a personal account of my experiences within my birth family during a most tumultuous time. The second one was to be a more clinical approach to combating conflict within our adult sibling relationships.

In turn, I have combined the two bodies of work, edited down to what I believe to be pertinent and manageable. The result is a culmination of my life experiences with my family, the sharing of personal tragedy and recommendations for developing communication and conflict resolution skills while sustaining relationships with adult sibling(s).

Adding the personal story was a critical part of my goal. I felt sharing the vulnerable aspects of my life were essential to normalizing my role in my family, as well as the communication style of my family as a whole.

The definitions that dot these pages are intended to act as reminders, refreshers and reassurances to all of us to look at the big picture as objectively as possible.

This is a chunk of my life. It is a testimony of how crisis can engender conflict. I have lived it. I have survived it. I have learned from it. And now I wish to share it with you. This is a journey that introduced me to and educated me about the issues of dementia, depression, divorce and death. Through joy and sadness, laughter and pain, I share the chronicles of conflict within my own birth family.

My once vital relationships with family and friends began to suffer, as did my sense of self. I was snapping at everyone. I didn’t care what someone said to me, I was most likely going to respond in a negative way. For the first time in my life I was unhappy. I had become a victim of life’s circumstances. My world began to disintegrate.

I had to change, and I knew that change was up to me.

Perhaps some would consider this book a channeling of grief or a cathartic release of some sort. Either way, I see it as a basis for adult siblings entering into the world of caring for their aging parents who are concerned about sustaining their relationships with one another.

This is my truth, as I know it.

I would like to make it known that the facts in this book are based on my experiences within my own birth family and in no way explicitly reflect or represent their feelings.

This is truly a sister’s perspective.

per·spec·tive

a measured or objective assessment of a situation, giving all elements their comparative importance (Encarta® 1999)

Part One

Why Bother?

At that moment, that very first moment, when you look into your father’s eyes, and clearly see that he no longer recognizes you, your entire world changes. It changes because the person, the patriarch, the protector, is gone. He has vanished. And in that moment, your roles reverse. The lifetime of security found within his strong embrace dissipates. Maybe it will return. Maybe it won’t.

This awakening, coupled with the profound realization that his sense of security now depends on me, snaps me back to my harsh and fearful reality. I feel hurt and lost. I’m often angry and resentful. At whom exactly, I’m not certain.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

MOM: Where were you? I’ve been calling all morning!

ME: Sorry I wasn’t home Mom. I had to go down to Burt’s.

MOM: Well, what did you have to go down there for?

ME: Well…he died this morning…Sophie called me… so I thought I should go down there… ‘cause she’s two hours away and can’t be here right now!

MOM: Oh…well I needed you here!

ME: Why? What happened?

MOM: Your father fell in the driveway and I couldn’t get him up. I couldn’t find anyone. His face is all cut up! No one was home! I needed you!

ME: Ohhhh…where was Noah?

MOM: He had to go to the sugarhouse for something.

January 2009

I stand at the sink washing dishes. It’s eleven degrees and I can’t see my fence. The snow has blown so hard from last night’s storm that nothing on the lawn is visible. From the kitchen window there is only a sea of white, and if this keeps up, it won’t be long before I can’t see the clothesline either. The shoveling is getting old and so am I.

Thoughts of that Thursday’s conversation with my mother keep flashing through my mind. It was a typical exchange between my mother and me on a most atypical day. And it is a haunting representation of how I perceive my role in this family. This conversation also took place two days before my father died. This brief conversation, like many over the past several months, was wrought with frustration, helplessness, anger and resentment.

There is no doubt about it; my mother had her hands full, as did we. We being four adult children caring for our two aging parents. (I won’t use the word elderly out of respect for my mother.) She doesn’t especially care to be referred to as such.

As the youngest of four children, I have what I believe to be a completely different outlook on our family as a whole. I have the learning advantage of witnessing such events as failed attempts to gain power between my siblings and manipulation between parent-child and sibling-to-sibling. Essentially, I have sat quietly in the corner watching and wondering why this happens. Of course, all the while, I was absorbing the effects and retaining the art of execution.

Later in life, when it was our turn to work in tandem caring for our father’s growing physical needs, as well as our mother’s ever present emotional needs, these skills were put to the test. That is where we may have fallen short, depending on whose eyes you judge through. It was often hard to fulfill the needs with quite the right balance. My mother is a worrier. She worries about things that seem trivial to me. She worries about things that she can’t control. Or can she?

~

That particular Thursday started out like any other Thursday that year. I remember I was sitting at the desk in my home office when Sophie called me to tell me her father had just been found dead inside his house. She told me very matter-of-factly although I could hear the shock in her voice. I remember instinctively feeling the need to help her in some way… she being a good hour and a half from her father’s house and me being right down the road.

I’ve never really talked to anyone in my family about that Thursday morning. I know I’ve tried, but either lack of interest or time has thwarted any elaboration. My experience that day was profound and quite typical of how I perceive my world melding with my family’s. Almost like standing outside on the porch with a locked screen door between us. I know you can hear me. Why won’t you let me in?

I do know that it was something of a force that took me down the road that day. Perhaps it was the force of my Aunt Jane, whom I loved dearly. She married Burton late in life and the two appeared to be very happy together up until the end. Jane had dementia and keeping her at home went from difficult to intolerable. She was placed in a nursing home and died a few months later.

When I arrived, I parked on the edge of the road, mostly on the lawn. Probably something I would not have dared do a day earlier. Burton was particular about his lawn that way.