This post hit hard for me in a few ways. 1) I found out both my parents had passed online, my mother (who I'd been estranged from) via a text from an ex, with a link to a Facebook post, and my biological father (who left when I was a kid) in one of many Google searches that finally landed on something - his obituary. 2) My late husband's social media is locked to me. I'd love to have the photos, especially of our kids that he had, but I've been unable to. 3) I wrote a memoir essay about a scar on my forehead that for YEARS I thought came from a fall in our living room. Years later, when my mother had been drinking, she told me the real story and why she'd fabricated the living room fiction: I'd been asleep in the back of her car (no seatbelts - it was the 70s) and my mother and her best friend were riding around town, and had been drinking earlier, and had a minor fender bender. I flew forward and hit the dash with my forehead. She didn't want my grandmother, or my bio-father to know - so the story became a lie - one I believed for a huge part of my life. My scar, on my own body, had a history that was a lie. So strange.
Thanks so much for sharing this. I can’t imagine what it was like to learn about both of your parents’ deaths online, or to be locked out of your late husband’s photos, especially the ones of your kids. And that scar story...the way your body carried a version of the truth that was kept from you for so long. I would love to read that essay if you can share or DM a link. Making me think again about the stories we're told vs the stories we tell ourselves. Really appreciate you sharing your personal experiences here :)
This post hit hard for me in a few ways. 1) I found out both my parents had passed online, my mother (who I'd been estranged from) via a text from an ex, with a link to a Facebook post, and my biological father (who left when I was a kid) in one of many Google searches that finally landed on something - his obituary. 2) My late husband's social media is locked to me. I'd love to have the photos, especially of our kids that he had, but I've been unable to. 3) I wrote a memoir essay about a scar on my forehead that for YEARS I thought came from a fall in our living room. Years later, when my mother had been drinking, she told me the real story and why she'd fabricated the living room fiction: I'd been asleep in the back of her car (no seatbelts - it was the 70s) and my mother and her best friend were riding around town, and had been drinking earlier, and had a minor fender bender. I flew forward and hit the dash with my forehead. She didn't want my grandmother, or my bio-father to know - so the story became a lie - one I believed for a huge part of my life. My scar, on my own body, had a history that was a lie. So strange.
Thanks so much for sharing this. I can’t imagine what it was like to learn about both of your parents’ deaths online, or to be locked out of your late husband’s photos, especially the ones of your kids. And that scar story...the way your body carried a version of the truth that was kept from you for so long. I would love to read that essay if you can share or DM a link. Making me think again about the stories we're told vs the stories we tell ourselves. Really appreciate you sharing your personal experiences here :)
Thank you, Sean.
No no I'm the one who needs to thank you! So grateful that you're willing to indulge me with stories about the past.....