Oliver got on well with his sister Nisha when they were children, but not so much as adults. Photo: Meena Jacques.
In early 2015, I stopped talking to my sister Nisha after an argument. Three months later, she suffered a sudden brain aneurysm, lapsed into a coma and died at age 37.
Falling out with an immediate family member is painful and more common than you might think.
While estrangement is often understandable, if it’s happened to you, it’s worth asking a confronting question: how would you feel if they dropped dead tomorrow? Would you be glad they’re gone, or racked with regret? If the latter, it’s probably worth making an effort to establish some sort of relationship – even if you never become close friends.
Family breakdowns sometimes occur due to abuse or malice, where distance may be necessary. On other occasions, it’s more complicated.
My sister and I got on pretty well growing up in Canberra, but our relationship began to fray after our mother died of cancer when we were both in our early 20s. She rightly felt I wasn’t supportive enough and we would sometimes lash out without ever properly communicating. Every now and again we’d stop talking. We were both stubborn and thin-skinned, so it could take a while for us to patch things up.
Nisha was fiercely independent and a dynamic risk-taker. She once flew to America for an afternoon to try to talk someone into giving her a job. She had the kind of dry humour that could annoy and disarm you at the same time. We knew how to get under each other’s skin.
At the time, I thought I was the only person in the world who didn’t talk to their sibling. On social media, it seemed all my friends were in Cosby Show-type families (before the revelations about Bill). When I confided to a relative that I didn’t get on with Nisha, I was met with: “Don’t be such an idiot, she’s your sister.”
So I felt I had to lie, pretending to people that we got on. I’d make up details about her life to avoid being judged.
Later, while working in journalism and speaking to people during difficult stages of their lives, I realised my situation wasn’t that unusual. I met the farmer who hadn’t spoken to her brother for 10 years because he received the lion’s share of their father’s property when he died. The lawyer who severed contact with his brother because he couldn’t stand his wife. The woman who had to hold two separate 30th birthday parties because her sisters refused to be in the same room.
While Australian data on the topic is limited, a 2020 US study found that 27 per cent of Americans were estranged from at least one family member.
Nisha in Jerusalem during one of her many overseas trips, shortly before her untimely death. Photo: Supplied.
I also met someone who no longer speaks to his mum – and, to me, that felt like a much bigger deal. As children, most of us are dependent on our parents, and many adults feel indebted to them for their sacrifice. Some try to put up with personality clashes, if only so parents are not cut off from grandchildren. Others may fear the financial consequences of severing contact with mum or dad.
By contrast, not talking to my sister felt like a low-consequence decision. I was a public servant in Canberra, and she was an engineer in London. We had no mutual friends and no shared assets. While a married couple might try therapy to avoid divorce for the sake of their children, seeking professional help to save a sibling relationship never seemed like a worthwhile investment.
I always tried to pretend it didn’t matter, but there’s no easy way to erase decades of shared family history and memories of growing up together. There is a deep psychological connection that’s difficult to understand and impossible to switch off neatly.
Nisha still makes regular appearances in my dreams, 11 years after her death. It can also be strangely triggering to watch other siblings get on like besties. I replay the conversation where we fell out and wish I had my time over again.
There are many perfectly understandable reasons for cutting off contact with close family, particularly where there is abuse or harm. I’ve always disliked simplistic advice like “life’s too short” or “just get over it”, which reduces complex family conflict to a LinkedIn slogan.
But not every estrangement falls into that category. Sometimes pride, stubbornness and grievance gradually morph into a permanent separation that nobody really wants.
My point is not that every broken family relationship must be repaired. Rather, before writing someone off completely, it’s worth confronting the possibility that death may make the decision permanent long before you’re ready for it.
I still don’t remember exactly why Nisha and I stopped talking. I do recall wishing, far too late, that I’d picked up the phone.
Original Article published by Oliver Jacques on Region Canberra.
