Some families are truly awful. I have the deepest sympathy and compassion for those who must endure life within one.
Some families are just bad. Unhealthy, dysfunctional, unloving. It would be hard to stay composed and upbeat and soldier on in that situation, but most do.
Some families are just a bunch of people living together, and everyone is satisfied with that. Could be better, I guess, but not the worst way to live.
Some families are good. Love, happiness, get along, work together, all that. This should be the minimum expectation and baseline norm for everyone.
Some families are great. Totally supportive, loving come hell or high water, kindness, warmth, hospitality, joy. What a great honor and blessing to be a part of that.
And some families are my family.
It defies belief to think how amazing this family is: we love, we argue, we support, we tear down, we cry, we shout, we sing, we play. We are so similar, we like totally different things, we get jealous, we walk beside each other, we encourage, we learn, we teach. We are broken, and we are fixed. We often disagree, we have the same values and we have very different values, sometimes we’re nice, and sometimes we’re kinda mean. For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad. We care, we act, we help, we push away, and we hold close. We matter.
What makes this family so wonderful?
We are together. We belong. We’ve been joined together in various ways, but none of us would want to be in any other family.
To my family: I love each each and every one of you, wildly. You know who you are. I can’t imagine spending my life surrounded by anyone else.