I want to have one of those families that get together every holiday and write on Facebook how “lucky they we to have such a loving and supportive family”, posted next to an impromptu group selfie of bright shining smiles. I want to have special memories of togetherness and love that sustain me until our next jubilant family gathering. I want to be that sister that can listen to problems and reach a reassuring hand to make everything better. I want to have that family, but I don’t.
We are one of those dysfunctional families. We do battle at every gathering. We drudge up the past, thrust and parry with our words, and brandish our swords of self righteousness, reaching past each other, while simultaneously aching to undo the years of hurt. We pull on our instinctual armor, protecting ourselves from the inevitable battle that will erupt as a result of two or more of us entering the same space. Our bonds bind. They bind our hearts and smother our hope. Our bonds are brutal. And we struggle blindly attempting to reconcile the years of disconnect, like the bridge between our hearts has been ruined. emoji: sad face.