That blasted thing called family!

So...family. I have an interesting mix of wonderful and hideous 'parts' of my family - maternal and paternal. No, I don't think I stand alone; I think most families are just as wild and weird as mine...I can simply speak to my experience. Difficult to understand, deal with, but yet you typically love them regardless even if you didn't get to 'choose' them per se. (Reincarnation is a whole different tangent.)

Some parts of family you love more than others. Sometimes there are snippets that are too awful too remember...and sometimes there are parts too precious to forget. And sometimes a gal gets sideswiped and hit by a mack truck of emotion at an entirely random moment by a memory that wasn't even what one would call a 'memory'...it was more of an emotional anchor.

As much as I'm an integral part of my family, I've been an outsider for most of my adult life...showing up here and there, but mostly for the happy (weddings) and hideous (memorial services) times that create spontaneous family reunions. I see snapshots from family gatherings that I missed - some impromptu, some planned, one because of a blackout - and I run the emotional gamut. Part of my very being vibrates with the sadness of not being included...but I also recognize that that's all part of the path I chose to take years ago. And I know that changing any of those choices would have made me a very different woman - and, yes, that's another tale for another time...

A few years ago, I was blessed to be a part of the final days of my aunt, Dani, my mom's oldest sister. No death is particularly pleasant, but hers was truly unjust...yet she maintained her spirit til the end - I'll never forget when I asked if there was anything she wanted and she asked for a gin and tonic. I had to laugh because I was expecting "water" or "pain meds".

Fast forward to just the other day...and the iPod Gods. Shortly after I came back from the week I spent at hospice I downloaded the Anne Murray's greatest hits CD; Dani wanted to listen to it non-stop and I now knew all the words that i hadn't before (sadly, I'm cheesy enough where I already knew more than I'd expected!) So, I was sitting on the bus and, even though I've listened to the songs a bazillion times in the last few years, 'Snowbird' came on and I started crying. Automatically. No thought. The anchor was Dani...hospice...family...and I thought of all the good in her - her determination to get her driver's license, how she kept working knowing something 'bad' was happening to her, her conviction to keep our family connected after Grandma died, her seriously soft skin, her wonderful laugh, the way she'd sit next to you and just stroke your hand or your arm or your hair.

And I gave myself permission to miss her. I guess I hadn't done that yet...too determined to keep moving forward, typical of 'Stoic Hannah'! And miss her I do. In a way, not going 'home' to Michigan allows me to (yes, rather warped) believe that nothing's changed:

Grandpa's still tickling Grandma's toes as she's flirting with everyone and they dance in the kitchen smiling at each other. Uncle Dave's still got a horse farm and a Great Dane named Sadie with pigs in the sties. Jingles, Duh-lee, and I are still torturing poor baby Cole while falling for all Uncle Dave's pranks. Grandpa's still making fuzzy navels in the kitchen with the hideous carpet. The cardinals still land on the birdhouse outside the old dining room. Family still gathers on the breezeway...where Grandpa alternates between smoking a pipe and a cigar. Aunt Dani still tapes her hundreds of Shows (aka soaps) every week. The Girls still aren't allowed to watch MTV, so we play hours upon hours of Atari and solitaire and read Xaviera. The towels still smell musty. There's always something to eat - let's raid the basement! - and we'll forever be haunted by the Ghost of the Christmas Lamb. So many memories...

Sadly, I don't have a digital picture of Dani when she was alive and radiant...and there's no way I'll post any of the pictures from hospice - not only would my mother literally KILL me, but they're just too special and they make me feel damned raw.

As much as I've been a separatist, family is very, very, very important to me. I'm not always the best at letting them know they're special to me, but they are.