Loving Bonds

It was a beautiful memorial. I was told by those with any resounding authority on the subject I was "her daughter," which I knew, but it was wonderful to hear. Mr. Reader Number Two held me tight, telling me how much she loved me. How much he does love me. How much I was a part of her life--and am still a part of his life. A picture of her and me was displayed on her memory board, and it didn't have to be. Tears flowed from those in the room and stories were told. I didn't tell mine, because four other people told similar ones.

My youngest brother was in attendance. So was my father. So was my father's roommate who is, I guess, family in a way, as my father treats her like a daughter and the two of them would be totally lost without each other. It would have been strange and the room would have felt empty if they hadn't shown up.

I have a blood mother. She and I have a relationship that will never be defined as strongly as Reader Number Two and me. I have come to terms with this. I am at peace because there is no reason not to be. It doesn't change my friendship with Reader Number Two nor cheapen my relationship with my blood mother.

"Family" sometimes can be a weird hodge-podge word for a loving community. Two of my long-time friends (I'm talking 44 years, long-time) dote on my children like aunties should. One is teaching Polly to drive a manual transmission. The other called today to specifically ask her if she wanted to see Matchbox 20. She didn't ask me to go! One of my dearest and closest friends has two sons who are, "nephews by heart" or whatever you call someone who isn't related by blood and you would go to the ends of the earth for if they called at 2 a.m. and needed something--because I would. For that matter, my brother is married to a lovely woman (actually both brothers are) who has two children who aren't his. Nobody thinks twice about their relation because loving bonds are infinite.