A Journey Through Family Estrangement, Reconnection, and the Power of Regeneration
My loves,
I still remember the disbelief when I opened my email in mid-2019 to find the first message, or "modern correspondence" as she called it. My grandfather's sister, who had been mad at the family for years—whom I didn’t even know existed—had decided, at 94 years old, to break her no-contact and reach out to my dad (her nephew) after 40 years.
I met her (online first, and later in person) with the same curiosity that the pilot stranded in the desert met the little prince—where had she come from? Where had she roamed? Why did she leave...and return? Who was she?
I found out she was born near Mannheim, Germany, in 1924, and thanks to my grandfather, she escaped the Nazis and came to Argentina in 1936. Her life, like mine, was shaped by a quest for freedom, independence, adventure, connection, and travel as a response to exile and trauma.
When she disconnected from her family and went no-contact—for reasons I have yet to fully understand and probably never will—the world rose up to meet her, and a family built on love embraced her. They are still by her side today, and as she began last Friday to approach the doorstep of death, I really, really wonder... what was alive in her during those years?
Was she curious? Did she feel abandoned? Did she numb herself? Did she want to reach out but not know how? Was she waiting for an invitation that never came? Did she try to master herself before returning, thinking that only then she would be enough? Was she scared? Did the emotions tied to returning overwhelm her? Or did she finally get tired of listening to fear and decide to give it another try? Was she afraid of not being welcomed, but did it anyway?
These are questions, in all honesty, that I’ve asked myself for years and still ponder with a more attentive curiosity when mirrors like this come by.
We exchanged emails for four years—she would tell me about her adventures, past lovers, intellectual conversations, career, and travels. She spoiled me with words of encouragement to pursue my heart and independence, but without forgetting to also surrender to pleasure and romance. I never managed to ask, in the right way, the root of her pain, to hear about the earthquakes that had made her mountains and sharp edges. For a while, I blamed it on generational differences, where there is a counter-movement now rising to create belonging in the places shame once inhabited.
This year, when I went to Argentina, I had the blessing not only to meet her but also to spend her 100th birthday with her. A century alive on this Earth. One hundred rings of life for her incarnation. Seventy years between us—but also 25, because it was only in the last five that we grew in each other’s hearts. She would ask me again and again to put my hand next to hers, and through that contrast, marvel at how much life she had lived, and how much there was still left to live.
Beyond the reflections and the gratitude for life, and the privilege of being held by the world when blood family isn’t available, what burns deeply in me is the desire to cultivate spaces and tools for hard conversations. To create regeneration, so many years don’t pass with life missed.
Maybe I am greedy, but I can’t help thinking that while there was a "happy ending" (a resolution where we all hugged and told each other we loved each other), I feel grief for not having had more time to enjoy her. That there were moments in my life without her in it, and moments in hers without me.
I wonder how my life might have been shaped and nurtured by having her around when I was a child, or even more importantly, as I stepped into the world alone as a young woman, searching for mentors who could guide and hold me. I wonder how her life would have been shaped with even more family in it.
And yet, I understand that she did what she could to keep herself safe. Her choice was 40 years of no contact. Both of these reflections make sense to me now. There is immense wisdom in celebrating what was, and using the "what if" I projected onto her story to question my own path. But the difference is, I don’t need to repeat that story.
I can learn from her, from the choices she made, and the pain she carried, and do things differently. I’ve already built a life that feels good, one filled with love, adventure, and belonging. I don’t need to go back to where I was hurt, but I can continue her work in a new way—one that creates healthier connections and more room for love, before so much time is lost. In a way, that’s when we really met: when I realized I could continue what she started, but with more softness, more healing.
Now that I know I am safe in myself, that I am my own person, and that I have the life I want... I am curious to re-explore. To not let life pass by, to soften, and to create intentional time to open doors, windows, and even post boxes to let the younger generations in.
To let my nieces and nephews, and the children of family, know that I’m here, and that I welcome them with open arms.
And here is where the real adventure begins: not just in reconnecting with others, but in making sure the spaces we create for connection are wide open, now and always, so that love and belonging don’t wait 40 years to find their way back.
Regeneration, to support the heart and the next generations—without the need to carry the weight of the past.
With love and courage,
Dara Morgana
<dar amor gana>
