Blood And Emotional Ties

“Family.”  That word conjures up so many things:  happy times together at the dinner table, laughter, chasing fire flies at night and capturing them in jars; gawking at them until their little lights flickered out.

Some people are born into a family; some are adopted, and some just create their own.  When my father died, I hid back in the back of the funeral parlor with my childhood friend Barb because I needed her strength to get me through the service.  I left my mother and sister sitting before Dad’s casket at the front of the parlor and trudged back to Barb’s side before Mom realized what I had done.

My mother was terribly hurt by my desertion, and once she got ahold of me again; she clamped onto my hand so tightly that I was reminded of when I was a child and she would use that “steel like” Momma grip to steer me out of trouble — or mischief.

I felt no remorse for my cowardly actions because I knew I needed Barb’s strength more than Mom needed mine.  Afterall Mom had always been my protector, and I was an emotional baby at the time; so my faulty logic was simple:  Mom had my sister for moral support… and I had Barb!

As I previously mentioned, once Mom got her hands on me she held on tight until we left the cemetery.  She never said a word about my actions but later, once I had regained my “adult” perspective, I apologized.  She gazed at me with those steely blue eyes and simply said:  “Don’t let it happen again.”  As if I would EVER again be that stupid!

About sandrabranum

I'm a philosopher, dreamer, poet, writer -- not necessarily in that order -- and I get to write it all down and share it with the world thanks to the Wonderful World Wide Web!
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