We are a Family

I’m going to let you all in on a little secret.  Ready?  Promise not to tell?  Okay.

I am an emotional person.

Stop the presses!  I’m sure I just totally blew your mind.  But it’s true.  I’m an emotional person. I feel lots of emotions and I feel them very strongly.  And, perhaps, more importantly, I express my emotions.  I don’t think anyone would ever use the adjective "stoic" to express me. 

The reason I bring this up is because, for some reason, for the last couple of weeks, I’ve been in a state of hyper-emotionalism.  This happens every now and again.  It’s not like an emotional version of Mount Eyjafjallajökull or anything…it’s just that my emotions have been heightened slightly.  TV shows make me cry.  NPR reports get me worked up a little more.  Nothing huge.  Until today, that is.

Today at work, I read an extremely beautiful blog post written by my amazing sister.  (If you don’t follow her blog, you should.  She is one of the most honest and open bloggers I have ever read.  And she’s kind of my hero.)  After reading her post, I had to take a little break from my break to get myself back together because, I’m not ashamed to admit, I was a bit of a wreck.  And I have been pretty much all day.  (Thanks, Megan…)

Recently, several people around me have lost loved ones.  Some, suddenly.  Some, after long, protracted illnesses.  I’ve been fortunate in my life.  I haven’t really experienced much loss.  I still have three of my four grandparents.  I’ve only lost one Aunt to cancer.  We have a small family, but we’ve been relatively untouched by tragedy.  But seeing the effects of losing a loved one on my friends and co-workers has been on my mind lately.  Then, I read my sister’s beautiful blog post about wanting to expand her family, and, well, let’s just say that my emotions have been a little raw ever since.

Over the course of my life, I have come to realize how important my family is to me.  When I look at the stories, and experiences, and feelings of my friends and coworkers toward their family, I can’t help but be nearly overwhelmed with gratitude at  how fortunate I am to have the family I have.  I don’t dread going home to visit.  I don’t have emotional baggage that I had to work through because of my parents.  I don’t hate any of my siblings.  In fact, the only reason I am a semi-functional adult is because of my family.

My father is, to put it simply, a great man.  He was always involved in our lives.  He told us how much he loved us every single day.  He showed up how much he loved us by how hard he worked, how selflessly he served, and how he treated everyone with whom he came into contact.  Besides being one of the smartest men I know, dad is also one of the most accepting–always willing to help out those who are struggling.  He has a connection with the spirit that is unparalleled by any I have ever experienced.  He understands and intuits things that, despite having seen it over and over again, still boggle my mind.

My mother is selflessness personified.  She gives everything.  She spent her birthday money on us.  She stayed home to raise her children.  She served in church callings–giving above and beyond the call of duty.  Due to persistent physical issues she has dealt with physical pain and exhaustion for so many years that she doesn’t even realize that it’s not normal…and she rarely complains.  She cooked and cleaned, put up with her children’s (sometime terrible) behavior, and kept a beautiful home.  She built a haven for her family, and was always available as a source of comfort and love.

My younger brother and I, as most brothers do, fought like cats and dogs growing up.  But I’ve always been awed by his talents.  He is a jaw-droppingly amazing writer.  He is excruciatingly smart.  As he’s grown up, I’ve been blown away by his dedication to his family.  He gives all his energy toward taking care of others.  I cherish the relationship that Jake and I have developed as the both of us have grown and matured.  I feel like we understand each other in ways that most others can’t. 

And then there’s my sister.  Megan and I have always had a special relationship.  There is something about the bond that my little sister and I share that is beyond precious to me.  She is one of the most honest, open, and caring individuals in this world.  She truly, and without a hint of irony, wants to make the world a better place.  She has a spark and a spirit about her that draws people in, and I’ve watched with awe throughout the course of our lives as, no matter where she goes, she, without even realizing it, makes that corner of the world a brighter place.

I talk with my parents several times a week on the phone.  I call my brother and sister weekly.  I would love nothing more than to spend time with them.  When I go on vacation, I go home.  I would even love to live with my parents again (although I would never do that to them…).  That is the kind of relationship we have as a family.  These aren’t just blood relatives.  These people are my closest friends. 

It hasn’t been sunshine and lollipops, of course.  We’ve had some pretty major family struggles that belong to our family.  There have been some scary times, a lot of disappointments, and a fairly significant amount of pain.  But despite that, this is a family that has survived.

Over the last ten years, and I’ve tried to reconcile the way my life turned out with the way I had "planned" for it turn out, the one thing that always caused me the greatest heartache was that I wasn’t going to be able to build the kind of family that I had been a part of.  And, as I grew, as my family members spread their wings, I felt like I was being left behind.  Mom & Dad were moving toward retirement and being together as empty nesters.  Jake was married and raising 4 kids while getting a PhD.  Megan was married and had a little girl with special needs.  Where did I fit in?  I’ve struggled with feeling that, although I knew I was loved, I was starting to be forgotten because I couldn’t participate in the family in the same way as everyone else.

But they have refused to let that happen.  I am still part of this amazing, incredible, awesome, inspiring group of individuals–and more importantly–the family collective.  Resistance is futile.  (And I don’t want to resist anyway.) They have loved me for all those years where I felt like I couldn’t love myself.  My family is where my happiness comes from.  It doesn’t come from all my toys, or my food, or watching TV, or photography.  Those are enjoyable, sure, but my happiness comes from talking to my mom & dad on the phone every couple of nights, or a late night chat with my brother, or talking about poop with my sister.  (Somehow, all of our phone conversations always devolve into conversations about poop.)

Mom, Dad, Megan, and Jake.  I hope you know how much I love you all.  Thank you for loving me back.  For accepting me.  For allowing me to be part of something so special.