With the holidays coming fast I'm thinking about my family. Not just my amazing family of my husband, daughters, son-in-law, and newly added boyfriend of Lorenzos, but the rest of my family.
My dad, my step-mom, my sister, her husband, and my brother. And their children, my niece and two nephews. And two of them have children. My brother's two children have kids; nearly four from what I'm hearing. His lovely daughter has two children and his son is having child number two.
My brother and I don't talk. It's a long and multi-faceted story; most of which is old family drama and not worth your reading, but some of it is relevant to everyone. How we got to this exact place is something I do think about. But, sorry my adorable sister, I don't think about him that much.
What I do think about is our, and by that I do mean my, childhood and the way we were brought up to think about family.
My momma and dad were pretty typical 60s parents. My mom ruled the roost and my dad would come home from work, sit in his chair reading the paper, and wait for supper. That my mom prepared. We had many many aunts and uncles from both sides of the family, but most of my life we weren't talking or seeing my dad's side of the family much for reasons long forgotten.
And there were times when we weren't talking to certain members of my momma's family. Also for reasons long forgotten.
Reasons long forgotten.
That's the saddest part of any family story of dissension. The original reason for the disagreement is long lost against the passion of the reactions.
I've often said that while I do not make too much drama, I am totally comfortable with it because of our family life while growing up. No blame there, just a realization I came to long long ago.
So . . . my brother and I don't talk. He has his reasons - spewed out to me in a phone conversation a couple of years ago - reasons I was rather stunned to hear, but they are his reasons. I can't change how he feels, but I did decide to change what I'll brave. I made a decision to no longer seek out any connection to him. It sounds horribly harsh, but he has no desire to take my hand so I'll no longer stretch it out. This breaks my sister's heart and makes for some tough holidays since I've asked to not be included in any celebrations that include him.
I knew that when I wrote this out it would cement in my mind what this means. And after reading what I've just written I can't believe this is what it's come to. Breaks my heart as well.
My little family is not perfect. But it will be a cold, dark day in hell before I'll be a part of anything like I experienced when growing up. I try my damnedest to stay out of any fray. I'm not saying I don't put my foot in it. I have big feet. Where else are they going to go for the cryin' out loud? But I am saying that I keep an open mind. Admit my errors. Try to make amends. And love as hard as I can.
Love as hard as I can.
That's all we got peeps. Love them until they can't stand it.
Smooches my hooches.
Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go by any rules. They're not like aches or wounds; they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material.
~F. Scott Fitzgerald
Post a Comment