A Day for Family

Growing up in suburbia I think I was sheltered to the idea of what defined family.

Everyone I knew had a classic nuclear set up. Mom, Dad, a various number of kids. The most "diversity" I saw was live in grandparents and nannies. It wasn't until I moved to the city that I met people who grew up different.

People who were adopted, grew up with grandparents, runaways, estranged relationships, young parents and self-raised individuals.

Until that point, I took my family for granted. I thought it was no big deal. My parents had, what I thought, was the perfect relationship.

They made it seem easy, and obvious. My parents were, and still are, so supportive and loving and present.

I thought they would be together forever.

Then it happened, they split. And my heart broke irreparably.

How could such a love exist for so long, then fall apart so fast?

My "family" went from an ideal unit, to a covert civil war. What was once a cohesive whole, a perfect picture, became a mixed jigsaw with missing pieces, set on fire.

We turned inwards, and just tried to survive.

I stopped functioning. I slept until the late afternoon. Stopped going to my classes. Stopped eating. Took my medications when I remembered. And smoked constantly. I was, what I call, chronic.

I stopped talking to my Dad, I blacklisted him and his entire side.

I avoided my Mom. I distanced from my brother. It was a secret we agreed to keep from him until he was ready. But the truth is, none of us were ready. Telling him meant making it real. Telling him meant breaking his heart before any girl ever could.

Telling him meant crumbling our world.

It was a night I will never forget. All I wanted to do was protect him. Save him from the hurt that we were all suffering. But I know I could save him from that just as much as I could save him from the world. I couldn't.

I honestly don't know how he did it. I was already out of the house, living away for school. But he was IN it. Witnessing, hearing, if not, listening, experiencing the gut wrenching pain.

I couldn't stop running away. First to Boston. Then to North Bay. To Vancouver. Pickering. I just wanted to get far, far away.

Then Toronto, finally. It was a safe place. Neutral as much as possible. Living with my wonderful cousins, who at that point, I really was estranged from.

Finally I was willing to face my family, and attempt repair. One by one, I healed broken relationships. Formed friendships with them, put trust in them, and created new memories.

It's now been 6 years since it all happened. It feels a lot like Dante's Inferno. We definitely went through hell, and had no choice but to keep going.

I'd like to think we've reached purgatory, at least. We've redefined family as best we could, and we've pretty much figured out split-family holiday scheduling.

I wish with all my heart the my family could be whole again. Not that my parents could be back together, I honestly can't even imagine it anymore. But that there could be no more hurt, or anger, or trust issues, or resentments.

But that's impossible, because no family is perfect, and I'm silly to think mine ever could be.

My family is flawed, and kinda broken, but it's still beautiful. It's still full of wonderful people who genuinely love, support and look out for one another.

The interesting thing about family is that no matter what shape or form it shifts to, it's always the same. It's ALWAYS your family. No matter what the world throws at you, that will never change.

Be good to your family, and I can almost guarantee that no matter what happens, they will be good to you.

Happy Family Day.

All my love,