
Every Friday my syndicated column appears in a bunch of newspapers in southeastern Ontario. Here’s this week’s!
I’m in the middle of sifting through the pictures I snapped at my brother-in-law’s wedding Saturday. While the pictures of my girls are certainly breathtaking, and the family shoot absolutely lovely, the picture that makes me tear up is of the bride, and me, and my other sister-in-law. It’s me and my two “sisters”.
I grew up as an only child. I have two wonderful cousins that I am very close to, but I had to wait until I was an adult to inherit my “sisters”. Both my sisters-in-law are similarly sister-less, so the three of us, though we look nothing alike, are quite the trio.
My husband grew up with three brothers, so the concept of “only child” is foreign to him, even if plenty of times he tried blissfully to imagine it. His family is loud, opinionated, and large. My mother-in-law is one of fourteen siblings. My father-in-law’s immediate family is smaller but just as close knit. When the whole family is together, we’re not talking dozens of people. We’re talking hundreds.
When it came time for this family wedding, narrowing down the guest list was difficult, for not only do my in-law’s have family; they have collected friends in abundance, too.
And so it was that at the celebration, after the blisters on my feet rendered dancing difficult (never wear new shoes to a wedding), I sat down and talked with one of those friends. We discussed how important it was not to be alone in the world, for far too many do not enjoy the raucous camaraderie that I am blessed with. I have married into a family the size of a small army, which is useful if we ever have to move.
While you may not agree with family on everything, and while personalities may clash, the wonderful thing with relatives is that you always know that you matter. And each of us, I believe, has an innate need to matter to someone.
My best friend did not grow up in a healthy home, and her husband’s parents have died, so they are the type that could easily be alone in the world. And yet her biggest problem this weekend, after the newest addition to their family was dedicated in church, was how to feed all the people descending on her home for a party afterwards. Her friends have replaced her family, stepping in to be “grandparents” and “aunts” and “uncles”, even if no one shares blood. To her church family, Susan matters.
On the other hand, some members of my extended family are facing health and personal crises quite alone. They do not have fourteen siblings and countless nieces and nephews. I am one of their few relatives, and I live far away.
They didn’t invest in friendships the way many people have to make up for the lack of family. They didn’t need to, they said, because they had their work—at least until health took that away. Today, then, they are largely bereft of community. I wish they had reached out earlier to a church, or to neighbours, or to a volunteer group, for if you don’t take time to get to know people earlier in life, it’s hard later on. And you can’t matter to anyone else unless you first let others matters to you.
It is far too easy to be alone today, in our world of smaller families, job mobility, and family dysfunction and breakdown. Certainly Facebook can fill a void, but Facebook can’t show up at weddings or take you to a doctor’s appointment or help you choose your in-law’s nursing home. That you have to do yourself, unless you have two “sisters” to help you, as I now do. And I am very glad, for they matter.
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