So I left home when I was 18. Got married moved across the country and finished growing up. Those of you that know me now and knew me then sometimes have a hard time putting the two people together. That's the growing up part. But that is a note for another day. :-) This is about the more things change the more they stay the same...or something like that.
My family and I couldn't be more different if we tried. There is a family photo hanging in my hallway and when people stop and look at me with my parents and my brothers and sisters I like to challenge them to figure out who is related to who by blood. I don't look like my siblings. I look a little like my mother. Mostly in the way we smile. But other than than, nothing. I have brown eyes, they all have blue or green. I am pale with dark stick straight hair. I have two blond siblings (or they were before age darkened their hair) and one with brown hair but wavy verging on full on curls if it gets long enough. They can all tan, or could when we were younger. I cannot even look at a picture of the sun without getting a little pink. And it goes on from there. We just don't look alike. If people don't know the family connections they will put Brent and Ann and possibly Jeff as siblings. John and Susan are obviously brother and sister and so they get them pretty quickly. Then they puzzle for awhile as to where I fit. For the record it's John, Jeff, Susan and I that are related by blood. Brent and Ann chose this mess.
My family and I differ on religion and politics as well. When my nephew and niece were little my brother and sister-in-law came to me and asked that I not talk to them about my beliefs when I visited as it might confuse them. I did make it a point to tell my oldest nephew a mixed bag variation on "you are fine and wonderful just how you are, always remember that". Trying to stress the words just exactly right so when the time came that he would need a family member to stand by his side he would know I would be there. I think it worked. But mostly my family has ignored (at least to my face) the fact that I choose to live my life differently than they do. The only one (other than the afore mentioned conversation) to even question me was my sister's second husband. Sitting at my brother's table for some family gathering he asked why I don't go to church when everyone else in the family does. It was one of those moments where you could hear the silence louder than any words. My sister tried to get him to take back asking. I told him I didn't believe in a God that was limited to one building and one book and asked if he wanted to talk more about it, but I think that he was really just looking for an excuse not to go to church when the alarm went off on Sunday.
Politics are another fun topic. Brent tells me to leave it alone, and mostly I do. But every once in awhile it's fun to poke the tiger. To make them explain to me why they believe what they do. If everyone around you thinks the way that you do, you never have to explain, to reason, to stretch. I don't think I will ever change their minds and I don't think they will ever change mine, but it's important to understand why I think the way I do, and why they think the way they do. Or I like a good fight. It's one of those reasons.
So anyway, that's the basics. I am not like them, they are not like me. Except we are. There are things that we do that are the same. Things that snuck up on me recently. During the month of December my mother was very sick. It was sudden, it was scary and it was serious. I spent more time on the phone with my siblings over those few weeks than I have probably spent talking to them in the past 5 years combined. And when all was said and done I had to realize we are more alike than I ever would have thought.
It started with a series of phone conversations, first my sister, then my oldest brother then my middle brother, when we were through and ready to hang up, you know when most people say good bye, talk to you later, bye, ta or whatever...we say...mmmmbye. Yep, mmmbye. My mother does it and we all have picked it up from her.
We also all share a really inappropriate sense of humor. And we have passed it along to our kids. When my sister-in-law's mother died we were at the funeral and my sister asked our niece where the potty was, Ashley heard body and hilarity ensued. In the funeral home. During our beloved Grandma Beulah's funeral. And we laughed about it for years afterwards...hey, Ash, where's the body?
While my mother was sick and we were all terrified and helpless we did the same thing. We told jokes, we laughed at things that shouldn't have been funny. Inappropriate laughter. My friends will tell you I do it all the time. I know it's not funny...but it is if you just look at it a little differently. To me a laugh is the first reaction to any news, laughter of disbelief, laughter at things that are so bad if you don't laugh you will scream. Who laughs at a funeral? My family and I do.
Everyone I talked to asked if I was going home when my mother was ill. My answer was NO. Going home means giving up. The one person I didn't have to explain that to was my sister. You couldn't pick two people who are more unalike on the surface, but during this whole stretch with my mother she got it. She understood that for me, getting on a plane and rushing home meant my mother was dying and I was giving up. Unless a moment came that I got a call saying you must come home I was keeping my feet firmly planted in Oregon thank you very much.
There are a host of other ways that we are alike, stubborn, nosy, bossy but since we are usually being stubborn and bossy in opposite directions it's easy to forget that those are really the same traits and not differences.
The good news in all of this is that my mother is fine now. I spoke with her on the phone after her last doctor's appointment and she told me that she passed all of the tests with flying colors. She also told me how high the doctor's bills were...and she laughed...then we told each other I love you and I hung up as she said Mmmmbye....
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