Sometimes we make decisions that others look at and believe they would never do what you did.

Sometimes we explain the decision and they change their mind.

Sometimes we explain the decision and they dig in deeper with their opinion and make you doubt if you did the right thing.

Sometimes the decision we made has consequences that hurt.

Sometimes we know we made the right decision yet have regrets.

Sometimes we want to talk about the consequences of the decision but don’t want to talk about the reasons for it.

Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve to feel sad about the situation my decision has put me in.

 

 

This is hard to write about in vague terms but vague it will have to be.

I long ago made the decision to stop talking to all of my family – aside from occasional messages from one relative. For some it’s been nearly 20 years since I last chose to speak to them, the rest between 10 and 15 years. It was a decision that had to be made to keep me safe. It was a decision that I held to when I became homeless and in debt. It was a decision I held on to when I made the decision to end my life. It’s a decision I held onto when I thought I was strong and safe.

It’s only now I’m struggling with the decision.

There have been two people in my family who I have missed and wished I could have walked away and kept in my life. I couldn’t work out how to do it. It would have meant telling them why I couldn’t have the others in my life, and it would have hurt them to know the truth. These two people mean so much to me.

These two people have cancer.

One of the two people will die very soon.

This is my last chance to speak to one of the people, the other might have a little while longer but keeping away will likely destroy any good will if I got the courage to get in touch.

I feel like a hypocrite for being so upset about what is happening when I decided long ago to remove myself from their lives.

I wish I was strong enough to do the right thing and face the potential shitstorm that would follow me going back. If someone found out I can only imagine the accusations and abuse that would follow. If I went to the funeral, it would risk detracting from the reason everyone was there for my own selfish need to say… what? What would I say? Sorry? Am I sorry?

I could write them a letter or send flowers while they can still receive them, but wouldn’t that be for selfish reasons too? I don’t even know what I’d say. I want to thank them but that wouldn’t be enough. How would it feel for them to get contact out of the blue with no way to respond?

Inevitably the topic of family comes up in conversations and upon saying I don’t speak to mine and it was my choice, there is either understanding or some variation of “you should change that”. I think of the two people, and I think I must undo my decision; I think of why I left in the first place and the thought of going back feels like a punch in the gut. The decision was not made lightly. I balanced whether it would hurt more to stay or walk away. I concluded that if I stayed, I would die. Leaving was the only option.

It sounds like I did a big disappearing act in the dead of night – it was nothing like that. I talked about what to do at length with a psychologist, I stopped answering calls, moved house without telling anyone where I was going… it wasn’t an immediate act.

Maybe I did the two people a disservice by not telling them everything and letting them assist in my decision, but I felt I couldn’t risk being persuaded to stay.

I’ve always known that my decision would end up how it is now. Maybe not exactly this way, but I knew I would find out that these two people have passed, and it would be too late. I thought I was ok with it.

I’m not ok.