The Revised and Expanded Letter of Nathaniel:
I’m Nathaniel, and my wife passed away from cancer a few months ago. After 24 years of marriage, I will always treasure the memories, affection, and adventures we had together. Together, we brought up two amazing kids who are now attending college and starting their own lives. In retrospect, I firmly believe that those twenty-four years were the happiest of my life.
My wife had a daughter from a previous relationship when we were married. Her name is Sarah, and she was 16 at the time. I did my best to be present in her life, to offer support and guidance, and to treat her with kindness.
She never really developed a sibling-like bond with my children, which was disappointing, but I came to accept it as one of those things that couldn’t be forced. Two years ago, everything changed when my wife was diagnosed with cancer. It came as a sudden and devastating blow, and although she fought with incredible courage and dignity, it became clear that the battle could not be won. Toward the end, our focus shifted to making her as comfortable and peaceful as possible. Even so, our relationship remained polite but distant—there was always a quiet barrier between us.
Sarah moved in with us during this period to assist with her mother’s care. I was quite thankful for that. She arrived when her mother most needed her, and I can imagine how painful it must have been for her to watch her mother gradually deteriorate. She has never left since. Even after the funeral, three months ago, she simply stayed. At first, I didn’t question it—I assumed she was grieving in her own way, and I didn’t have the heart to push her away while we were all still hurting.
While I was grateful for her assistance, I told her politely but firmly that I didn’t need someone to take care of me in that way. I can live on my own again because I’m an adult and have done it previously. I advised her to start considering her own future, including finding employment, a home of her own, and possibly seeking counseling if she needed assistance dealing with the loss. However, nothing occurred.
Finally, I was forced to make a difficult choice. Because she couldn’t stay here forever, I informed Sarah it was time for her to leave and start her own life. She then broke down and stated something that really made me uneasy: she claimed she wanted to stay and take care of her family, just like her mother did. It sounded more like fixation than fondness the way she stated it. It creeped me out. Despite my best efforts to show her compassion, I made it quite apparent that she had to go by the end of the month.
Her reaction was dramatic—tears, accusations, and passionate pleadings. She accused me of being callous and claimed that I was preventing her from mourning for her mother in her mother’s house. I was unsure of how to react. I left the room quietly, but I’ve been feeling really conflicted ever since.
She is my wife’s daughter, on the one hand. I find meaning in that. I don’t want to abandon her, and I understand that she might be experiencing emotional and mental difficulties that I’m not quite aware of. However, we never had a personal relationship, and now I feel as though I’m living with a stranger—someone who is attempting to fill a position that isn’t hers, in a house that no longer feels like mine.
I’m concerned that things will just become more challenging, hazy, and emotionally complex if I let her stay. Even though I know that might be the only way to go on, it feels cruel to ask her to leave.