Day 348: When Did We All Grow Up and Why Didn't I Notice?

It seems to be a cliché, but one that is true nevertheless, that when parents divorce the non-custodial parent often sees the children as forever young. No one ever grows up and the memories of the family remain trapped in a time that once was. My own memories of my extended family are like that to some extent. The happiest times of my childhood revolve around big family celebrations, and my memories of my cousins, aunts and uncles imprison them as ghosts from the past rather than as they now are. I wonder if I hold onto these images from happier times because I do not want to acknowledge the changes we’ve all experienced or if I’m just lazy?

For some of them it’s easy to picture them the same way. Bernie is the eternal optimist and friend to everyone, just as she was when we were all younger. Rachel is still close to her parents and walks to the beat of her own drummer, a trait I am no stranger to myself. Aunts Dee and Cookie are still the caretakers, as alike in their eternal need to nurture as they are opposite in almost every other characteristic. Then there are the family members who look the same to me, despite huge changes. Blindness, an M.D., major lifestyle choices, and geographical distances that keep us from interacting for a decade at a time are the realities regardless of my time-warped memories.

As we get older, life does not actually become more complicated, we just become more aware of the inherent complications of reality. Divorces, births, family feuds, they all happen and yet for me I still see Christmas wish lists written of pieces of paper and thrown into a stocking before each name is drawn in secret and guilty laughter in the basement of the funeral home the day of Grandpa Jim’s memorial. Jimmy may live far enough away that I never see him and Dana, Donna, Bernie, Kim, Dani may all have families of their own and complex lives that I know nothing about, but they are also just teenagers in my mind.

I’ve lost my connection to the family to an extent. The mother is the keeper of family doings, and mine gone as is the link to the family grapevine. Still, it’s more than that. I like remembering them as they once were. I love them because they are family and we grew up knowing one another. Knowing them as adults might inspire similar loyalty and sentiment, but it might also create unwanted distance. No one wants to deal with the fact that I am an atheist any more than I want to deal with the individual family dramas, but that’s not always an option. I like knowing what is happening in their lives and wish I had more communication than I do, but I also don’t want to forget where we all came from.

I doubt we’d all be friends if we were not family, so maybe sometimes it is better to remember our roots and allow our love for one another to trump our sensibilities. We do not need to like one another’s lifestyles, partners, morals, or belief systems to love and respect one another. Having an opportunity to rediscover my family now that we are all adults is teaching me an important lesson about making an effort. It’s not enough to just say you love someone you also need to show an interest in his or her life and get to know that person as they now are. This doesn’t mean I’m going to agree with or like everything, but it does mean that I can love the childhood memory and know the adult reality.