- I was close with my in-laws when my ex-husband and I were married.
- After the divorce, I tried to keep those relationships the same.
- But when my ex-sister-in-law Barbara died, I realized that things had changed
My sister-in-law died five years after her brother and I divorced, but in my mind, I was still married to the rest of the family. They were with me when my mother died and when both of our kids, now adults, were born.
When I met my ex-husband’s sisters over 30 years ago, I knew I had gained not just sisters-in-law but sisters-for-life. Barbara, 10 years older than me, had large dark eyes and wore big rings on her small fingers, but on her, they looked good. She knew about literature, art, and design, and I wanted to read everything she read. If you didn’t know that she had studied at the Cordon Bleu, you could have guessed when you sat down at her dinner table. And my favorite thing about her was how easily and loudly she laughed.
She told me stories about my ex-husband during our frequent hourlong phone conversations. When I told her how beautiful one of his ex-girlfriends was, she said, “Yeah, but you can see too much of her upper gums when she smiles.” I always felt like she was on my side. When Barbara heard my ex-husband and I were getting divorced, she was angry at him. I loved her even more for that.
When Barbara died, the family invited me to her house
After Barbara’s death in 2013, my ex, his girlfriend, and other family members went through her house to see what they wanted to keep and what they wanted to send to auction. After everyone else labeled their selections, they sent me a list of what was left and invited me to the house in Maine to see if I wanted anything.
Though I was the ex-sister-in-law, I had loved Barbara like a sister, and in my mind, that made me family. I was not surprised that I was given the opportunity to go through Barbara’s things, because I had tried to remain part of the family after I got divorced five years earlier. I sent birthday presents to my mother-in-law and sisters-in-law. I included them and my ex-husband and his girlfriend in holiday dinners, even though they no longer invited me to theirs.
I told myself I was doing it for my kids so that they could be with all of us at the same time. But now I realize I was doing it for me, to stay connected to family. My mother had died many years earlier, I never knew my father, and I didn’t have siblings, so to me, this family was everything. That’s why it meant so much to me when they bought me a silver and gold chain link bracelet, the same one they wore. Best of all, they always introduced me to people as their sister, and I felt like family.
When I drove up to Barbara’s house where we had spent many summers with our kids, the garden was in bloom, evidence of what I admired about Barbara’s aesthetic — planned, but not overly manicured. From the front door, I saw the rocky coast of Maine and the Atlantic Ocean out back. The house held so many memories, but I no longer felt like I belonged there.
Now I was like any other guest oohing and aahing at the view. When I walked by the fireplace, I flashed back to the many evenings we made s’mores and me yelling at my son to keep the burning marshmallows by the fireplace and away from the furniture. When I entered the kitchen, I remembered all the lobster dinners we had prepared together there.
I was the only one in the house and it felt a little like I was trespassing. I saw some Netflix DVDs on Barbara’s desk, so I put them in the mailbox and texted my ex-husband to cancel Netflix and all her magazine subscriptions. I liked finding something helpful to do that the rest of the family had overlooked. I felt like saying, “See, you still need me. I have value.”
I took a few things that remind me of her
I spent the afternoon looking at her art and books. I took pictures of a few things I wanted. There was an oversized metal ladle, too big to use, but cool nonetheless. Now, it holds potatoes and cloves of garlic in my kitchen. I picked an antique wooden tool designed to gather cranberries that I spotted in the laundry room.
It now sits on top of my bookshelf that holds many of the design books that Barbara gave me. I also chose a simple stone statue with an oval cutout that’s only a few feet tall. At the time, I didn’t realize it weighed 300 pounds and would be difficult and costly to ship, but when I see it surrounded by ferns in my garden, I feel the connection to my sister and know it was worth it.
While these things remind me of Barbara daily, it is the thing I took without telling anyone that means the most to me. During my night alone in her house, I was cold. I went into Barbara’s closet and found a gray pullover fleece that flared out at the bottom. It was way too big for me, but when I pulled it over my head, I knew I wasn’t going to give it back.
I wore it over my pajamas in her guest room and took it with me the next day. I imagined that Barbara would have been happy that I had something more personal than a sculpture or a soup ladle. She would understand that her sweatshirt would remind me of our cool summer nights in Maine and the bond we had as sisters.
My bond with the family is no longer as close, but I understand
A month later, I went back to the house for the memorial service held only for family and close friends. In the front row, I saw my ex-husband and his girlfriend, my sister-in-law, and mother-in-law. I sat in the last row with my daughter and people I didn’t know. When no one motioned for me to come forward, I finally recognized that I didn’t belong in the front rows reserved for immediate family.
For years, I had mourned the end of my marriage and fought the natural evolution of my dwindling relationship with my in-laws. I thought, if I tried really hard, I could hang onto them. But Barbara’s death made two things clear. My ex-husband’s girlfriend was family now. And I was no longer married to my ex’s family.
I still call or text on their birthdays, but I stopped inviting them to dinner. On cool nights, I still wear Barbara’s sweatshirt over my pajamas.
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