As many of you know, my husband Nico and I spent the month of April in his native country Argentina. We had the intention of making the trip half work/half play—he promoting his new book and me working on a family history movie of his family. I had many reasons I wanted to do this, mostly so that I wouldn’t regret not having done it one day. But also because, as in all families, there are few left in the oldest generation and last year my mother-in-law lost a beloved uncle of hers who was a well-known and important priest in their city. The priest also had an incredible memory and knew more about their family history than anyone else. For him, it’s too late. I like to think that we will all live forever and sometimes wait a little too long. It’s a part of what motivates me to do what I do, helping make sure that we do live forever, at least in some form.
In Argentina it’s very hard to plan anything until you’re there in person. We spent the first week in Buenos Aires reconnecting with friends and eating the world’s best pizza and ice cream. (And I got to interview one person for a documentary project I’ve been working on since 9/11.) Arriving in Gualeguaychu, my husband’s hometown, was a great homecoming. The tears, the love, the food, the laughter, everyone talking over each other, all at once, people asking questions but not waiting for the response to tell you how glad they are to see you. It was glorious!
I prepped my in-laws a bit about the interview process for their family history movie, but, as is my style, I told them not to prepare anything or think too much about it. Going in I knew that my mother-in-law came from a family of 13 (I know what you’re thinking, 13 kids from one mother!) but during the interviews I realized there were two marriages: her father was widowed with 6 children, her mother had a son, and after they married, they had 6 more. I have to say this didn’t really sink in until several interviews and even now as I write this I have to use my fingers to count them all.
With my in-laws in Argentina they were just so excited to begin the project. I decide that it would be a good idea to make a list of my mother-in-law’s siblings that are available to interview. That’s when it happened. Through a quick flurry of back and forths, I found myself swept out the door with my husband and around the corner to ring the bell to his aunt and uncle’s home. Now, I have to preface this story with the fact that this was my third trip to Gualeguaychu. I have spent a total of three months there and I had met many of Nico’s relatives, neighbors, friends, and teachers. I never knew that he had an aunt and uncle who lived around the corner. They live right next door to neighbors who run the corner store that we always run to when we need something quick. I had no idea that Nico had any family that lived anywhere nearby. I was always told that the relatives all lived in another neighborhood and that my in-laws were more or less alone where they lived, sharpening their pain of all three of their sons living abroad.
Nico’s aunt and uncle Amalia and Abel answered the door with broad grins, effusive greetings, and in the great tradition of Argentine hospitality offerings of food and drink. Perplexed by what they could offer us, these strange vegetarian guests, they decided upon this incredibly delicious hard cheese that Abel was curing in what they later showed us, a huge storage room just for food. Their house was well-kept, lovely, and they were warm and kind. We spent an hour getting to know each other and catching up, talking of their world travels, their children, grandchildren. Amalia invited me to attend a yoga class with her and we set up an interview for the following Tuesday.
Leaving their house with hugs and kisses, I couldn’t believe that these warm and loving people lived so close to my warm and loving in-laws and yet they had no contact. So in my subtle and gentle way, I began to do what I do best—ask questions. Not judgmental or pressing questions, simple ones. Well, why don’t you talk to each other? What happened? What was it like when you were kids? I still don’t fully understand how the rift happened, but it sounds like pure miscommunication and bad timing. We may never know, but this story is about the small miracle that happened after and the greatest healing that I have witnessed in any family I have worked with.
As a consequence of our having visited Amalia and Abel to set up a time for me to interview Amalia, Nico reconnected with their two sons Gustavo and Ariel (so funny that after nearly 30 years I suddenly have a cousin who shares my name). We made plans to dine with them the following week. Nico was happy to be getting to know them after almost 20 years of very little contact.
Nico’s homecoming was exciting for other reasons as well. He was interviewed on national radio, a talk show on the local television station, and the Cultural Center hosted a presentation of his book. He got to speak to a room filled to the gills. Amalia, Abel and his cousins all came. Caught up in the moment, I didn’t see it happen, but afterwards my mother-in-law bubbled to me that Amalia and Abel had come up to her and her husband and kissed them on the cheek and congratulated them. This was a major breakthrough.
Now, I don’t do this work because I want to heal families. (Well, maybe I do.) But I know that that is not always possible and sometimes not even necessary. I have been blessed to actually get to know a number of families that actually function happily or at least appear to. But I do know that whenever I do this work healing happens. There’s something about talking about the past and reexamining it, just reliving it through story-telling, that triggers transformation. This is what happened. I felt love pour out from all the family members I got to meet, including several great-aunts. It’s not about the information, it’s about the process of telling stories. The action. The act. The whole family relating back to itself like a thousand mirrors in time.
Amalia and Abel didn’t turn up at my in-laws doorstep and apologize for 20 years of silence. There may never be an apology from either side. They may never break bread together, but they now wave when they see each other drive by. The silence has been broken and the gates of communication have been reopened. Amalia and Abel’s son Gustavo and his wife and kids ate dinner one night at my in-laws while we were there. Perhaps next year when we visit, we can bridge that chasm and all eat together.
The power of asking a family to sit for a few hours individually and reminisce, recollect, and reveal is indescribable until you experience it for yourself. I have witnessed old men weeping over their mothers, siblings finally voicing the admiration and awe they have for each other, women owning the importance of their life’s work as a mother. I once again feel incredibly blessed that I have been called to this work—that I get to help families reconnect.
On another note, I know that my nephews living their digitally-enhanced childhoods in the U.S. will be shocked to learn how their grandparents grew up without a telephone.