Family

I suppose in part it's the time of year when family weighs heavily on the mind. I recognize that my thoughts of what family mean to me are probably not traditional, or typical. Though every family has their own unique quirks and skeletons in the closet. My musing on this subject was brought up by a request from a friend for people to talk about their fathers. This makes me think of many things.

It's hard for me to envision my family as a cohesive thing, mostly because it isn't. As an only child, my sense of family is limited to my interactions with my parents mostly, and a select extended group of grandmothers, aunts, and uncles. But both of my parents chose to live in a city away from their relatives, even though in very different ways, they both grew up with a much stronger and cohesive sense of family and location. Both of my parents had siblings- my father, two brothers, and my mother, a sister. Both of my parents lived in areas surrounded by aunts and uncles and cousins and relatives. Each has a strong memory of a family home or foundation. A matriarch or a patriarch.

I grew up with none of these things. On top of which, when we would visit with cousins, on either side, there were no children of age to me. So I was in a strange family void. Contemporary cousins to me were generally much older, and later, when they had children, those children were much younger. So there was no camaraderie in that sense.

So on to my own family. Parents who argued, who separated when I was six and divorced when I was seven. I don't remember a happy home, but I know that mostly I stayed out of things. Stayed on my own. I wasn't a child who craved attention. I suppose as an only child, I got used to entertaining myself. And I was fairly compliant. If I was told to go here or go there, I went. It never occurred to me to argue or disagree with such things.

But in saying this, I do not want to suggest that I idealized my parents. In fact, I think I learned much earlier than most that my parents were simply people. With their own flaws and foibles. My father in particular behaved poorly when I was younger. In his quest to 'get back at' my mother, for what, in retrospect, I'm not actually sure. He saw nothing wrong with using me as a tool and in fact told me as much once, when I was 13.

My mother was in some ways no different and still to this day will get angry and upset just thinking that I have given some token of affection to my father that I have not afforded her. It's all a competition. And that's wrong too.

My parents are complex. And flawed.

And yet, both of my parents love me very very much in their own ways. This is the one thread that has held my version of my family together. Because as flawed as my parents are, as I am, we all love each other and care about each other and it is this bond that is my version of family. No matter how that bond is expressed, or how annoyed we get with each other, or even if we don't understand each other. We are bound to each other in a way that is steady and firm and dependable.

I live far away from both of my parents now. And part of me is afraid of that day, when one and then the other will be gone. Afraid because I don't know how I'll handle such a thing. I don't know who will be there to support me at the time. Part of me is afraid of that extra dimension of being truly alone.

Maybe you don't really miss something until you actually don't have it anymore. That makes me sad. I fear that on some level that's my future, but the complexities of every day life don't leave much alternative. On the other hand, often most things look better through the glasses of history. We're all just people you know? Even our parents.