It’s the Family that Matters

I genuinely feel bad for people who aren’t close with their family. My family is everything to me. I am 💯% positive that I wouldn’t be here without their love and support. We don’t always agree. We have our own opinions, and most of us are extremely outspoken. Yes, our family tree may be full of nuts, but the roots run deep and they’re stronger than any storm we may face.

I had the distinct honor of growing up in the family homestead. My Pappap bought the house that we’ve all come to call Home when my mom was in elementary school. Over the years, so many members of our family found that it was a place they could always come to and be welcomed in with open arms. I’ve got a cousin who would notoriously show up without warning in the middle of the night. Coming from New Jersey, I guess he liked traveling the turnpike better after dark. Any time someone was coming from out of town, we’d shuffle the sleeping arrangements to make sure that everyone had a place to lay their head. My sister and I often gave up our rooms and our beds. The trade off in that was the years and years of family memories that fill our hearts and find their way into conversations even when we’re alone.

Every major holiday was celebrated at our house with the whole family present. I even remember one Thanksgiving where some of us ate at a picnic table on the front porch because the dining room just wasn’t big enough. There were cookouts for the summer holidays, and winter holidays found every room in the house filled with family, friends, food, and fun. God help you if you wanted some peace and quiet!!

When my grandparents moved back to West Virginia, we kept a bedroom for them to come stay on the weekends. Sunday dinners were the norm. Seems like every important moment in our lives was overflowing with family. And you know, I miss those days. What I wouldn’t give for one more Sunday breakfast of pancakes and polkas! Mummum made the best pancakes and sausage.

My dad grew up just about a half a mile away from our house. That meant that his parents were close enough that my sister and I were able to see them often too. My Papou would come up every day or so to see his babies. Sometimes I still open the basement door and get a faint wif of coffee and Lucky Strikes, and I know he’s still checking in on us. Grandma’s house had a little hill in the side yard, and when it snowed, she’d give us garbage bags to use as sleds. The lightest dusting of snow in the winter makes me miss those days filled with innocence.

As happens quite often these days, our family has drifted apart some since the grandparents have all passed on. Life gets in the way of the living sometimes. We may not see each other as often as we used to, but I know that they’re all there if I need them. Facebook has made it easier to keep up with what’s happening in everyone’s lives, but I think it’s caused us all to lose touch at the same time. Phone calls are a rarity since texting became the preferred method of communication, and I can’t even remember the last time I wrote or received a letter. Some of us still manage to find time to send Christmas cards, but even that seems to be fading into nothing more than a happy memory from Christmas Past.

Still with me? Bless you! The point of all my rambling is this…I love my family, nuts and all. With Memorial Day marking the unofficial start of summer this weekend and the craziness of the pandemic still wreaking havoc on our lives, I find myself sitting here being so thankful to have a strong, loving family to fall back on when times get tough. We’ll all get together for a picnic, and maybe for just a little while we can escape back to a simpler time and let go of all the worry and uncertainty that’s taken over this year. We’ll laugh, play games, maybe take a quick dip in the pool, eat, drink, and be merry. I love knowing that we’ll celebrate together, because at the end of the day, it’s family that matters most. ❤️