Events in my life have led me to do a lot of thinking. A lot of thinking about people in my life. And what matters to me. And the importance of family. And what family even means.
My understanding of family is far from traditional. I claim two mothers. One is my biological mother. The other her best friend. They’re both incredibly important to me. There’s been a lot of drama. In my family. In my life. As in anyone’s. And there were times that I took these two figures in my life for granted. I know this now. I know a lot now. And no, knowing doesn’t always mean I will remember this fact. But it does mean that I know it. Makes sense, right?
My father…well, he’s made some mistakes. I recognize that he is human and I have set about forgiving him. It’s not easy. And I expect a lot of effort on his part for things to work. But I’m giving it a go, and that’s more than I said I would do. However, there is another man who has stepped in where he lagged. He has became astoundingly important, even vital to my life. He has given me someone to count on and someone to believe in. And I am forever grateful for him.
So, my point? Family doesn’t have to be about blood. There are people whose blood I share, whose DNA I have some connection to, that I don’t view as family. There are people that bear no resemblance that I value as family far more than any blood relation. It’s not about the genetics. It’s about safety, emotional stability, trust. It’s about being able to depend on someone. It is a matter of actions, decisions, consequences. It’s shown in words, and in how they live.
That’s all I have for tonight. I haven’t had much sleep the past few days. Sorry, folks.