Families

 

Families can get complicated.

My stepmom (photo) and father each had a son and daughter. My stepmom never called us yours and mine but “ours.” Rick and I each have one daughter which I consider “ours” for all that it means.

My stepmom’s son drifted away but eventually she became close to his son, her grandson.

My mother made it clear to my brother he had to choose. After 25 years of no contact he asked me to introduce him to his father and stepmother. It was a wonderful few days, but my brother never followed up except to send flowers when our father died. He lost a chance to know a wonderful loving woman.

My brother and I exchange greetings on our birthdays. I wish we were closer but if he needed something, I’d do what I could. He’s family.

His daughter and I are Facebook friends and I have met adorable sons. If we were geographically closer, I would try to spend more time together. The Atlantic Ocean reduces drop-in-for-coffee or even a Saturday night babysit possibility. However, her aunt did share an Easter dinner with us in France one year. I won’t go into the convoluted relationship there. Always room for family.

My stepmom’s grandson lives in California. We double teamed to get her through her dementia with dignity. He’s visited me in Boston and later in Switzerland. Like his grandmother he’s a lovely human being.

Now his son, my step-grandnephew is fighting Leukemia at 18. I wish I were closer to help more with things like having a dinner ready when they got home from the hospital or cleaning their house. I do what I can at distance. I can erase the word “step” because it doesn’t matter. He’s family.

And we have family of choice members. People who are there in good times and in crisis or chaos. We prefer the good times when we build up memories of meals, movies, cups of tea, walks – moments shared. The words “remember when…” bring floods of memories.

Perhaps we should have a family tree for both those related by blood, marriage and choice.