According to Merriam-Webster, the definition of family is “the basic unit in society traditionally consisting of two parents rearing their children”, it goes on to specify that this traditional unit can differ in shape and size, but still, it focuses on a parent and child. That is ‘family’. The people who share your blood. Or legal name. But what happens when the people who share your blood, when the people predisposed by genetics to care for you don’t want you anymore? Or what if they never wanted you? What are you supposed to do then? I often hear that family doesn’t have to be blood, family is the people you surround yourself with, the ones who you live with, work with, hangout with. They’re your chosen family. But really, is that all it takes to be someone’s family?
Your house may be shared with others. Your schedule may always be full. But what if at 2am you’re losing yourself to the darkness, sinking into the depths of the unknown and it’s just you, in bed. Alone. Who is your family then? What about when you come home sick from work, you wish for your mother (or anyone!), the person who is supposed to look after you when your immune system is fighting for you. But she’s not there. She never was. No one was. So once again, you are hugging the toilet bowl. Alone and gross.
It always ends up that you begin thinking that maybe some people just weren’t meant to experience the dictionary’s definition of family. Or any definition for that matter. You were meant to live this life alone. Now don’t get me wrong, you have friends, you have brunch pals and running buddies and a work husband to giggle with. But sometimes more is needed, sometimes you need someone to ask how you are and actually care about the answer. Or someone to hold back your hair when you let the alcohol get too much of you. Or someone to hold your hand when you just need….someone. Sometimes all you need is for someone to remember you exist. That would be family, right? Someone who remembers you exist and wants you around even when you have provided them with what they need.
To be remembered and to be seen. I think those are what it takes to really find your family. If someone sees you and still sticks around and loves you? Then cling to them and don’t let them go.
But anyway, what do I know? I’m simply here, alone, on my knees. Using a white cloth to dab at the spilled wine on the floor, the circular motion of my movements robotic as I get lost listening to my own inner monologue drivel on about what it means to be family.
What do I know?
I just hope I am wrong, because there is no one who will remember me.
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