The love of family can be both an undeniable gift and a tremendous challenge. Some families experience more laughter than loss. Some families endure more heartache and disappoint. Yet undoubtedly, each family has their own unique story--one that not even those closest to them (friends/neighbors/in-laws) can understand unless they lived within their four walls.
For our family, we have certainly had our fair share of happiness---but we have also experienced a great deal of loss. Loss meaning death. But this type of death is slightly different than what many think of when they hear that word.
Whether you have gone through it or not, divorce is like death. There was once life to a relationship that thrived on giving, receiving, compromise, learning, respecting and remaining loyal. There was actual life between two people. However, when the demise of a relationship is carried out--it becomes irreversible. The pain becomes too much. The hate becomes too strong. The disappoint becomes too great. The apologies never given. The forgiveness isn't granted. It becomes final--like a death.
For the longest time (even until my twenties) I was skeptical whether or not I would ever have a relationship with my siblings again. Our three person unit was broken. I went one way; they went the other. We all lost sight of each other.
There we were, three siblings who would be expected to show up for the separated family events. The awkward smiles, obscure embraces and passive comments became too much.
Was this normal? Was this appropriate? Why did we have to allow the death of our parents' relationship be the end of ours?
I think it was March 20, 2010. At least that was the first time I recalled feeling like I had my big brother back. It was the first time I felt like the three of us were back together. Of course we were scared, timid and shaky--but we genuinely laughed, embraced and spoke freely. Since then we have certainly had our blow-ups. However, this time around we deal with the issues at hand; rather than sweeping them under the rug and retreating to silence for three to four months.
We've grown up as individuals. We've grown up as siblings. We all have our own pain from what we lost. We all have dealt with it differently. We all have made an effort in moving forward.
And lastly, I say we have a melody--my brother, sister and I. An intense one at times. A subtle, yet consonance harmony that leaves an imprint. For us, our melody is ever-changing. We are at a place where we have a greater respect for what we do and don't do. We have a deeper understanding of our own, distinct personalities. And when all is put aside and come together--our melody is that of love and forgiveness; something that has taken over twenty years to find the right pitch, tune and arrangement to live on.
For our family, we have certainly had our fair share of happiness---but we have also experienced a great deal of loss. Loss meaning death. But this type of death is slightly different than what many think of when they hear that word.
Whether you have gone through it or not, divorce is like death. There was once life to a relationship that thrived on giving, receiving, compromise, learning, respecting and remaining loyal. There was actual life between two people. However, when the demise of a relationship is carried out--it becomes irreversible. The pain becomes too much. The hate becomes too strong. The disappoint becomes too great. The apologies never given. The forgiveness isn't granted. It becomes final--like a death.
For the longest time (even until my twenties) I was skeptical whether or not I would ever have a relationship with my siblings again. Our three person unit was broken. I went one way; they went the other. We all lost sight of each other.
There we were, three siblings who would be expected to show up for the separated family events. The awkward smiles, obscure embraces and passive comments became too much.
Was this normal? Was this appropriate? Why did we have to allow the death of our parents' relationship be the end of ours?
I think it was March 20, 2010. At least that was the first time I recalled feeling like I had my big brother back. It was the first time I felt like the three of us were back together. Of course we were scared, timid and shaky--but we genuinely laughed, embraced and spoke freely. Since then we have certainly had our blow-ups. However, this time around we deal with the issues at hand; rather than sweeping them under the rug and retreating to silence for three to four months.
We've grown up as individuals. We've grown up as siblings. We all have our own pain from what we lost. We all have dealt with it differently. We all have made an effort in moving forward.
And lastly, I say we have a melody--my brother, sister and I. An intense one at times. A subtle, yet consonance harmony that leaves an imprint. For us, our melody is ever-changing. We are at a place where we have a greater respect for what we do and don't do. We have a deeper understanding of our own, distinct personalities. And when all is put aside and come together--our melody is that of love and forgiveness; something that has taken over twenty years to find the right pitch, tune and arrangement to live on.
