Skip to main content

oranges

Not the kind of fruit you want used to describe a tumor. Particularly an inoperable brain tumor.
Blueberries possibly, or maybe even a plum. But an orange seems so ominous.

No I do not have one, but Shaun’s aunt does.
To be honest this is an aunt I barely know. I have met her a few times, but she is the one the family doesn’t usually like to talk about.
We all have those family members. The ones that don’t make the proudly displayed family photos or isn’t usually on the Christmas card mailing list.

And their stories break your heart.
This one has a 14 year old daughter with her own heartbreaking stories.
But they don’t stop here.
My friend is dealing with an addicted and mentally ill sibling.
Another is caregiver to an ill mother in law.
Another’s cousin is a convicted criminal.
My mom supported and cared for her brother who dabbled in all kinds of things that didn’t usually come up at the dinner table.

But this is family.
Mine and Yours.

Sometimes it is easy to see that person on the street. The one with the sign.
And not look them in the eye.
And to keep driving.
We don’t want to think that they are someone’s mom, or daughter.
That they have made choices that lead them down this path.
And maybe they have.
And maybe they haven’t.
But most have a story that could so easily wind into anyone’s family tree.

So when I got to the hospital a few weeks ago.
I decided to go in. It wasn’t really part of the plan. I was just supposed to get my kids and go on my way.
But Shaun’s mom’s sister, became my aunt.
And her daughter needed to become my cousin.
They need to be mine.
This girl needed a family.
And well, she really already had one. We just needed to remember.

Comments

Margie said…
What an opening to this post. What a sad post, but good reminder about what we do for family.
Alyssa said…
Very poignant and powerful.
Sarah said…
Strong work, M. I never thought of it quite like that, but that's exactly how it is. It gave me pause.

Popular posts from this blog

multiple choice

As I write I am procturing a test ( yes on a Saturday, and no I am not getting paid for it.) The room is silent. The only noises I hear are pencils scratching on papers and pages turning. If I listen closely enough I swear I can hear their brains turning. I have always been a good test-taker. I would still regularly brag about my SAT scores if it wre socially appropriate to do so(or an actual indicator of anything meaningful). There is something comforting about multiple choice. (well as long as you don't have the crappy all of the above or none of the above choices...just the classic A, B, C, D variety). There are parameters. Multiple choice means you have options. The right answer is right in front of you, and all you have to do is find it. Even if you don't actually know which one the right answer is there are usually clues, it can be narrowed down or worked backwards. Even a blind guess is likely to be right 25% of the time. These aren't bad odds. All you have t...

Turning the question

My school has been sending me to some inquiry training. The “i” word has been thrown around since my education classes in college. It is one of those things that is really good as a concept but kind of hard to pull off in the classroom well. For lots of reasons. But the big one number is because teachers are reluctant to let go of the control. To let the kids loose with a concept and see where they end up. Let them discover, own it and share out all on their own. Without intervening. Then push them a little bit further and clear up any misconceptions that they are holding onto before they slip out your door. This is supposed to be the most meaningful way for a kid to learn. For them to discover rather than memorize. One of the other problems with inquiry and science is that kids have stopped learning how to ask questions. My son bombards me with whys all day long. Why are owls nocturnal? (which comes out a lot more like “not-turtles”) Why do I have to take a shower? Why ...

pursue something else.

Americans like the idea of happy. of pursuing happiness. It is even one of our inalienable rights at least according to the Declaration of Independance. But I think maybe we should pursue something else. like love or joy or peace or contentment. and leave happy alone. Don't read me wrong. I am neither bitter nor cynical. Even my problems are good problems. I am positive. Half full. And most days I laugh a whole lot more than I cry. And simple things like a dance party in the living room, an hour alone in Barnes and Noble, the yellow pajama pants my son picked out for me for mother's day, potstickers, clean sheets, someone surprising me with coffee, jeans fresh from the dryer, a good song on the radio, or squeals of delight when I walk in the door all make my heart sing. They make me happy. For a minute. But when the squealing turns to screaming, my new pants are dirty, the sheets are in a jumble on the floor or the coffee runs out....where does that leave me? And happy isn'...