Parents: Let Go Of Your Adult Children

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LETTING GO OF OUR ADULT CHILDREN
Chapter 9: Closure When Reconcilliation Is Not Possible

BY ARLENE HARDER, MA, MFT

Chapter 9 of Letting Go of Our Adult Children, in which you can learn how to let go with love when true reconciliation is not possible.

The hardest worker may not get a promotion. The most dedicated runner may not win a race. The most ardent suitor may not win the object of his affection. Doing our best does not mean we will always get what we want.

Some disappointed parents have done all they can to mend their family rift. They stopped trying to change their son or daughter and have worked on those things that kept them overly concerned about their child's current problems. They have forgiven themselves and their child, have mourned the loss of the dreams they had for their family, and have sincerely tried to let go with love. Yet their child may still choose not to include them in his life.

Sometimes it is parents and siblings who decide to distance themselves from an adult child who is extremely disruptive to family harmony.

Laura Morgan's sister had a twenty-year history of schizophrenia, compounded by alcohol and drug abuse, a situation Laura described in a commentary she wrote for The Los Angeles Times. Despite years of therapy and the consistent emotional and financial support of her family, her sister became increasingly delusional and violent, striking their mother on several occasions and stealing from the family to finance her drug habit. Unable to take (or give) any more, their mother packed up and moved to the Midwest two years ago. At the same time, Laura moved and got an unlisted phone number. She and her brother told their sister not to contact them. It was time for the family to cut their losses, realizing, finally, that it was a question of survival Ñ hers or theirs. The last that Laura heard about her sister, she was living on Skid Row. That is clearly not the happy ending any family wants for one of its members.

There is a limit to what parents can handle. Just as children have rights, parents have a right to be protected from the verbal and physical abuse of their children. Yet the decision to cut off relations with our children is not done without a great deal of anguish. Even then, knowing we are doing the right thing in distancing ourselves from our child does not take away the pain.

In some families parents do not have a chance for reconciliation, even if they have moved through all the stages on their path of healing. Their child may have left home years ago and disappeared, offering them no opportunity to work things through. Or their child may have died from an accident, homicide, suicide, or sudden illness before they had time to heal a torn relationship.

Not all situations that appear non-reconcilable, of course, will remain that way. Ivy, a woman I interviewed, told me that she and her husband, George, had spent many sleepless nights worrying about their only child, Ben. They had once given up hope that he would turn his life around. Their son was a heavy drug abuser who had alienated himself from his parents until, in his mid-forties, he had a child of his own. Apparently at the prodding of his wife, he sent pictures of his baby, a grandchild Ivy and George hadn't seen. The letter accompanying the picture of smiling parents and offspring stated that he now realized what it meant to have a child, adding something about how much his parents had meant to him. The new relationship is still tenuous, although there is hope it can be further repaired. Nevertheless, while Ivy and George can now breathe a little easier, at one point they had to accept, for their own peace of mind, that their child was alienated from them and that, very possibly, they would never see him again.

Unless your child has died or is completely incapacitated, there is always the possibility of reconciliation. But counting on that possibility can prevent you from ever releasing your pain and really getting on with your life.

Closure means "closing or being closed; a finish; end; conclusion." In the case of broken relationships, it is, as a friend of mine said, suturing a wound so that it can heal. Closure does not mean you write off your child forever. Instead, it is the willingness to gently close a door to the past, allowing the possibility of opening new doors for reconciliation in the future.

Stumbling Blocks to Closure

Why do the doors that need to be closed to broken relationships remain open, the wounds unsutured? There are many reasons, of course, but two common ones are the context in which we hold our pain and the way in which we expect ourselves to be judged as parents.

Defining Ourselves by Our Pain

We all know people who describe problems in their life as though their problems, pains, and sorrows are the only things worth knowing about them. My friend, Wini Pyle, however, is very different. Happening to call while I was writing this chapter, she told me that "different parts of my life are functioning at different levels." Her body isn't doing as well as she would like, her love life and spiritual life are great, her job is still rewarding. And she also feels sad, sometimes, because her only daughter has not been in contact with her for two years and will not even give her a phone number where she can be reached.

Wini told me that every day she releases her child, opening the door to the possibility that her daughter may choose to write her or otherwise reopen the relationship. In the meantime, my friend provides a wonderful illustration of the way in which we can view alienation from a child in a healthy way.

Certainly it is healthy to acknowledge our loss and pain from time to time. Yet we must also remind ourselves that that relationship is only part of who we are. There are other aspects to us as well. We do not need to display our pain like a giant sign across our chest, as Hester Prynne is compelled to do in The Scarlet Letter.

Defining Our Worth by How Our Children Turn Out

Some parents are unable to close the door on irreconcilable differences with their adult children because of the standards by which they believe others will judge them. These standards include the expectation that they, alone, are held accountable for their family's rift, as though they should have been able to control both sides of that relationship. They expect they will be found worthless if their child is not reconciled with them, or if he doesn't turn out the way they, and possibly others, might wish.

Many parents won't let go of their child — and won't allow their wounds to heal — because they believe their best wasn't good enough and because they hope, in some vague way, that by holding on they can somehow make up for past limitations. When I talk with these parents, I tell them about the reports that have been gathered of people who have had "near-death experiences." I share with them my fascination in one particular aspect of "NDEs" as they are called. This is the account given by those individuals who have met a "being of light" or "wise being" as they waver between life and death.

If this "being" talks to the person only two questions are asked. One is, "Did you love?" The other, "Did you learn?" Notice that the questions are not: "Were you a good parent?" "How many possessions did you accumulate?" or "What side of the abortion issue were you on?"

NDEs are mysterious phenomena. There are those who accept them as evidence of life on the other side of death and those who say they're nothing more than hallucinations induced by trauma. Whatever the truth, it is most interesting that, at what could be the end of their lives, so many people with widely varying life experiences focus on the issues of loving and learning.

What higher goals could anyone have than to live as though the two most important things in life are to love and to learn?

If parents would accept that philosophy, we could more easily address the issue of failed relationships. Then we would know that we have done our best if we have loved our child. We have done our best if we have learned from our experience as a parent. We cannot do better than our best. Nor are we expected to.

An Exercise for Healing Broken Relationships

Three years ago I attended a conference at which I participated in a lovely guided imagery exercise that was designed to help participants view broken relationships in a new way. Some of the workshop participants used it to work on letting go of a loved one who had died. Others, such as myself, used it to better accept a relationship in which there did not seem to be a possibility of directly resolving differences between us and another person. At that time I didn't know where Matthew was, so this exercise seemed especially appropriate.

Since then I have adapted the exercise in several ways and have used it for a variety of clients. This guided imagery exercise can provide you with insights you had not previously known about another person or about yourself. It can help you discover aspects of the relationship you can change without requiring the other person to change. And it can allow you to become more accepting of the other person in ways that, until now, you have not been able to see. You may want to use this exercise for people other than your adult child, such as an ex-spouse and ex-friends.

If you have not done imagery before, be assured that this process does not "force" you to go someplace in your mind you do not want to go or do something you do not want to do. Everything that happens to you will be what you decide and what is best for you to gain from this experience. Imagery exercises are valuable because they make use of the healing metaphors and imagery of the right brain, by-passing the more structured analysis of the left brain that sometimes insists there is only one way to view a situation.
To use the following as a guided imagery exercise, read it slowly into a tape recorder, pausing at the places indicated, or have a friend read it to you. Or you may just want to read it several times (to under- stand what you are to do) and then complete the exercise without a tape recording.

After you are through, you may want to take a few moments and write about what happened during the exercise. Some people find it helpful to do the exercise more than once.

Let yourself become as comfortable as possible. Allow yourself to be gently supported by the chair or sofa on which you are sitting and move, if you must, to find the most relaxing position. As you let your body find its comfort, allow your eyes to gently close. . .

Now begin to relax by taking a few slow, deep, abdominal breaths, filling your lungs to capacity and releasing the air as completely as possible . . . Each time you breathe out, say to yourself, "I am relaxing. . ." After two or three of these deep breaths, let your body breathe according to its own natural rhythm, slowly and easily ...

Each time you inhale and exhale normally, allow yourself to become twice as relaxed as you were a moment before . . . Twice as comfortable . . . Twice as peaceful . . . With each breath every cell of your body becomes at ease . . . You find yourself in a state of pleasant, relaxed consciousness . . .

And now imagine that you are standing on a grassy low hill near the sea. You can smell the clean sea air and hear the sounds of birds as they circle overhead and onto the beach below. You notice a path that follows a stream flowing gently into the sea. You take the path and walk slowly to the shore, and then along the shoreline until you come to a dock where a fairly large boat is tied. The weather is perfect and you imagine it would be a good day for taking a boat ride across that sea, or to various places along the sea's edge. Allow yourself to experience being here in a place of calm, serene beauty with a sense of potential healing all around you . . .

As you look back toward the hill on which you were first standing, you notice that there is another path, different from the one you took, that also leads to the shore and then to the dock. You notice on the path a person who, at one time, had been in a relationship with you but with whom you now have a conflict that keeps you physically or emotionally apart. You can see him or her clearly, and even though you may have had difficulty being together in the past, now you realize that no harm will come to either of you in this place.

You watch as the person walks along the path and slowly comes toward you. You greet each other and walk together toward the boat. During this time you discuss how one of you will go on the boat and one of you will wait on the shore. There are a number of reasons why either one of you should go or stay, but you realize that the journey is more necessary for the one than for the other. Perhaps you talk about where it is that either one of you needs to go. You discuss the fact that sometimes people who set out on a voyage and plan to return may discover during their trip that other places hold a strong attraction for them. And so it may be possible that the person taking the trip will not return for some reason.

Once you have decided who will take the journey and who will wait on shore, you pay closer attention to the details of the boat. What does the boat look like? Notice what provisions are already on the boat and which ones still need to be brought on board. How do you fee I about the boat and what it has to offer the one who will be traveling? . . .

Now the one who is to take the journey gets on the boat. The one remaining behind unties the rope that holds the boat to the dock and watches as the boat moves slowly away into the distance and out of sight. The person on shore will experience this time in a way that is just right for that person. The journey may last only a short time, or many months or years may be needed before the journey is over. Since this is an experience in the nonlinear part of the mind, time is not of consequence; the journey can last as long as either of you needs for it to last.

Let the journey begin . . .

Now it is almost time for the boat to return to shore. Does the boat return? If it does not, allow the person on shore to accept the choice of the one who does not return. Have the person who has been waiting sit for a while and consider what it means to allow another person to choose his or her own destiny.

If the boat does return, have the person on shore greet the one who has gone on the journey. Find a comfortable place to sit and talk with the other person heart-to-heart about what happened to each of you while you were apart. You may experience this conversation as a real dialogue in which first one of you and then the other speaks. Or you may just get a sense of what happens as you and the other person discuss what you experienced while you were apart . .

What do you learn that you had not realized before? What happens as you open yourself to listen to what is in the heart of the other? . . .

As you prepare to part, remember that you can return to this place and talk again any time you need to. And now say goodbye and walk back to the hill on separate paths . . .

Become aware of the room again and take a deep breath. As you exhale, accept the healing and insights from this experience as being just right for you at this time. And when you feel ready, open your eyes.

Creating a Story of Healing

The stories we tell about our lives are not fixed and immutable, any more than our lives are fixed and immutable. The thousands of circumstances we have experienced over the years provide a wealth of possible meanings and interpretations. No one of them defines the underlying meaning and substance of events in our lives. But we keep repeating that story over and over again until we are convinced it is the only interpretation anyone could possibly arrive at, if they knew what we know.

If our story is a happy one, we don't have any incentive to change it. This is not the case with the story of disappointed parents who are unable to reconcile with their children. Yet just as we can discover new options by looking through different windows, we can discover that there is more than one story that can reflect what happened between us and our child.

If you are willing to entertain the possibility that your experiences need not be viewed as darkly as you have previously viewed them, you might try a story writing exercise I created. As difficult as it may seem to you now, this exercise can transform your story of conflict and pain into one of acceptance and peace.

This exercise will take a fair amount of time to complete; at least weeks, and probably months. It will be time and energy well spent. And while you can begin at any time, it is best if you wait until after you have worked through most of the tasks in the five stages of healing. Then, after those things have not been able to bring your child back to you, telling your story in a different way can describe the broken relationship in more healing terms.

To begin, find a quiet place, perhaps your private retreat, and sit down to consider what stories you tell yourself, and others, about your family's situation. What is the role you have assigned yourself and what is the role you have assigned your child? What emphasis do you give to each part? When you know how you want this tale to be told, begin with "Once upon a time . . . " (or something else if you wish) and write the first draft of the story of your relationship with your child. Be as creative as you can, perhaps telling your story as though it were about someone else. Write it down as thoroughly as possible and then put it aside.

The next time you feel like working on the story, read what you have written so far and notice what it feels like to have your story on paper. Since stories with many-faceted, complex emotions often change from one telling to the next, notice whether you still feel the way you felt when you first wrote it or whether some feelings have shifted. If something you had written now seems unimportant, or if you are ambivalent about some things you had previously held as absolutes, think about how you might change those things in writing the next draft. Leave this draft for your next visit.

When you return, read the story again and think about how you may want to rewrite it. This time make the rewrite shorter, if possible, leaving in only what you know are the important parts and discarding what is not essential.

Repeat this process as many times as you need, making the story more and more brief. You may even try seeing whether you can tell your story in one sentence! Long or short, realize that your story expresses, in a style that is uniquely yours, essential truths of what has happened. Your story is an important version of the unresolvable rift between you and your child, but remember, too, that it is not the absolute, definitive, final word.

When you have finished, notice what changes have happened to your story since you first began telling it. Notice that each retelling contains elements of the truth, with the whole picture evolving as you interpret events in a different way.

Writing a Letter of Closure

Two and a half years ago I met a woman whose son had recently died of cancer. As we talked, she told me that her son, who was the same age as mine, had abused drugs and alcohol before his diagnosis and continued to blame other people whenever he got into trouble. Knowing that her son was dying, she was able to share with him the things she wanted to say. When he died, she felt their relationship was complete.

Our conversation made me realize that if Matthew died, which was surely possible because he was living on the streets at the time, I would not only feel a deep loss, I would also know I had not shared with him all I wanted to share. I decided to write a letter to him, with a personal copy to each of our children. Since I sometimes over-explain myself, the letter was very long (I would write a shorter one if I were doing it today). However, the purpose was to express what I wanted to say. I did. If it took a long time to read, so be it. If my children did not understand what I was trying to say, so be it. I had done my best and felt a real sense of closure in my relationship with Matthew at that time.

Some time later I was talking with him on the phone about another matter and asked him what the letter had meant to him. His only comment was, "It's apparently something you needed to say, and you have a right to your opinion." That's not exactly the reaction I had hoped for, but at least I assumed he had read it. It would have been great if he had said, "Gee, Mom, now that I see how much you love me and how my situation has affected the whole family, I'm going to enter a treatment program and get a job." But that's just wishful thinking. I had no right to expect or demand him to respond in any particular way; nor was that my intent.

Since I wrote that letter, I have helped other parents write to their children. Before writing those letters, however, it has always been essential that the parent be willing to explore honestly why she wants to write. Only then can she be assured that the letter will not become a rehash of old fights, a defensive and angry diatribe, or a subtle manipulation to get the child to change. The primary purpose of these letters, after all, is to bring closure to a broken relationship, to acknowledge that, as things now stand, there does not seem to be a possibility for reconciliation, even though that is what the parent would prefer.

The origin of your letter arises out of conflict, of course, and you will want to take plenty of time deciding what should be included and excluded. You don't want to fan the flames but to put them out.

While there are many approaches you can take in writing your letter, I offer the following as important guidelines.

Say why you are sending a letter at this time. Perhaps you may want to tell your child that after doing some work on your own issues you have decided to put past conflicts behind you by acknowledging those things that are unlikely to change.

Make certain that the letter is an expression of love.

Be honest in what you say and in how you say it. And remember that any attempts at manipulation are only likely to drive your child further away.

Be sure to tell your child that what you write is your perspective of what has happened and not necessarily "the truth."

Assume that your child is in pain over the rift in the family, even though he may seem not to care; a cavalier attitude can hide a great deal of pain. Let him know you understand that painful emotions are possibly the reason he has chosen not to be open to reconciliation and that you hope he is able eventually to find peace to heal his own pain.

Let your child know you recognize that he has a right to make the choices he has made and you also recognize that his choices are reasonable to him, even though you do not understand them.

Do not accuse him of ruining your life or causing you physical problems. (Although I had a back operation brought on by stress during a time when there was much turmoil over problems with Matthew, I have never blamed him for my inability to handle stress more effectively.)

Acknowledge that you influenced him in many ways when he was a child and accept responsibility for your part in the current problems between you. Do not, however, take all the responsibility in the hope that, by doing so, he will return to the bosom of the family. He is an adult and responsible for his own actions.

Realize that your spouse or another significant person in your child's life also influenced him, both positively and negatively, and you may want to discuss that person as well. Be careful, however, to acknowledge that your view of that person is your own and may be distorted by your need to see that person in a particular light.

Let him know what you appreciate about him and how you hold onto the good times you shared. Do not, however, expect that just because your child enjoyed trips to the beach and family vacations that his perception of problems in your family cannot possibly be true.

Keep the door open for future contact, if you would like that to happen.

A Ritual for Goodbye and Closure

Rituals remind us of our connections with the past and open us to new adventures in the future. They can be significant passages between the different periods of our lives and the different roles we have played. Fortunately, there are rituals you can create for the closure of relationships, when you may need to change from being a parent who has had a relationship with a child to being a parent who no longer has that relationship. These ritual events are not unlike the ritual discussed earlier in which the process of grief is facilitated by releasing lost dreams through writing them on pieces of paper.

The following ritual is designed to encourage closure by celebrating the best of who your child was in the past and/or is now, even though you are not part of her life. This ceremony is especially helpful for relationships irrevocably broken by death. It can be done privately or can include others who have played important roles in your child's life. You may want to do this ritual only once or several times. Experiment to see what works best for you.

On the anniversary of your child's birth, or some other day that was important to both you and your child, set aside time to experience the love you had for her and what you have learned from the life you shared. Go to a place that was special for her, such as the park or the beach. Bring with you several things to help in the ceremony you plan: pictures you want to remember her by, a poem she liked, a copy of her favorite book, or a scarf in a color she loved. Sit down on a blanket or chair and imagine the spirit of your child is there and is receptive to what you say, glad you have taken this time to honor her.

Begin the "ceremony" by telling your child how you have loved her and what it is you have learned. You may want to read the story you have written and share what has been going on in your life while you have been estranged. Express your love, resentments, regrets, appreciations, dreams, and memories. Let your words reflect the desire that your child have a successful life and find peace for herself, just as you are finding peace for yourself. Remember that when people who have been good friends part company in strong disagreement, the greatest gift of love is when one sincerely wishes the other success. Do not worry if what you say isn't said perfectly. Your child's heart will understand. Your heart will also be listening, and healing.

The following examples offer a few ideas of the kinds of things you may want to say to your child.

"When you were very small, Sharon, I was sure that what I felt for you was love, but now I realize it was the love of possessing someone who would love me back, because I never felt really loved before. Now I see that what I thought was love may have suffocated you and driven you away. And so my lesson has been that children are not possessions. We must hold them gently and then release them to their own experiences. I let you go and wish you well."

"Jeremy, I have always loved you and always will, so it has been difficult for me to be separated from you all these years. I regret so terribly much the mistake I made in allowing your stepfather to come between us when I had a chance to make a difference in our relationship. I understand that you are bitter and that you feel it is better if I do not have contact with you. Since I want so much to include you in my life, I am very sad. When I see little children playing in the park, I cannot help but think of Alex and Bruce and wonder how much they have grown. I would like you to know that I now spend a lot of time with my neighbor's little boys, four and six, who love to come and have cookies. And we sometimes play that silly card game of Fish that you liked so much. I let go and hope you do well on your new job."

"Paul, our relationship was filled with conflict before you committed suicide, and your leaving has made life that much more difficult. We have been filled with anger, pain and guilt. Now I want to heal the rift that stood between us, a rift that may have been part of the reason you decided to take your life. I am deeply sorry you saw no other way out, but I realize you made that choice, I didn't. Since your death I have spent a lot of time not only remembering the love I tried to give you but learning about my role as a parent in your life. I have chosen this special ceremony to share my feelings with you and I believe that you can hear what I want to say Ñ and that both of us can now be at peace."

One Day at a Time

We have all heard the ancient Chinese saying that a journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step. A newer proverb sees progress in a little different way. This wise saying was created by Jeremy, the son of Paula Caplan, author of Don't Blame Mother. He noted that, "On a staircase there is only one real step. The rest are there only to help you along the way."

When you are tempted to become discouraged by the distance you have to go in closing a painful part of your life, remind yourself that all you can do is take one step after the other. And then stop every once in a while to look back and see where you have come from.

On the wall of a friend's house is a poster that says, "You can't change the past, but you can ruin the present by worrying about the future." Remember that saying when you start fretting about what may happen in the years ahead. Live each day fully in the present, knowing that by doing so you will be better able to handle what tomorrow will bring.

When you bring healing closure to a relationship that seems blocked to reconciliation, new doors may open when you least expect them. And you will be ready for them.

© Copyright 1994, Arlene Harder, MA, MFT, Reprinted with permission.