But you can't pick your family

Dear Sharon,

I don't understand you.

You told my grandmother that you regret never having the chance to get to know me, and yet in all the times we have met in the past three years, you have chosen to treat me as if I do not exist.

You dance around me as if I might bite. You hold me at arm's length, a child to be seen and not heard. Do you want me to prostrate myself in front of you, begging for your attention?

I suppose I should try talking to you, but I don't know what to say. I don't know you well enough, and you don't have any hobbies or interests that I can talk to you about. What am I supposed to say?

"So, how's widowhood?"

"How did you like working thirty years in a mental institution?"

"I hear you're beginning to regret that hysterectomy you got when you were 22."

"Is there a reason why you're shunning me, or are you just a bitch?"

No, I think it would be a lot easier if you just asked me about how my day was, but you can't seem to do that, can you?

I just don't understand.

Sincerely,

Erin

PS. Happy birthday.