Sometimes when I’m feeling introspective in the shower or getting ready for bed I think the weirdest things, like if I could only save one: my brother or my boyfriend, which would it be? Or I sit and cry about the fact that if my partner and I have children, those children won’t carry my step dad’s genetics, or worse (because at least there’s my brother to carry those) my mum’s step dad’s- his genetic line ends with him, though he will leave one hell of a legacy of love and perhaps that’s all that matters.
I don’t know why I have these introspections, other than because I feel absurdly blessed to have my family. I can’t thank God for this as I’m not religious, and I also can’t assume we’ll have an eternal afterlife together, so I guess I just try to think about them and appreciate them and cry for them now.
I’ve thought about family a lot this week, it was recently my brother’s 18th and then he sent me a wonderful letter, and on Sunday it’s mother’s day with my boyfriend’s birthday fast approaching. I missed my regular Sunday chat with mum last weekend too, which always puts me in a homesick contemplative mood.
This September will mark the 10 year anniversary of me leaving home. I love living independently, and I love growing older, but I can never shake a feeling of regret about time not spent with my family. Whenever I watch a programme about people from cultures who habitually live with, our very close to, their whole family I feel sad; but I also really value my independence and the fact I’m making a life for myself on my own terms.
Enough rambling now, apologies to any readers! I just needed to write something about how sometimes I love my family so much it hurts.