Seems simple enough.
To begin, I’ll mention my cousin “Sam” and his wife. When my father was in the hospital a month back, I spent many hours at his side. Sam was there less often, because, after all, it’s not HIS dad. But the two of them, without being asked and entirely without comment, went to both my house and Dad’s to mow the lawn and handle other minor duties; and there was cooked food ready for me every time I got home.
Anybody else?
When my daughter was little, I’d often be taken aback by some of the things she’d say:
“Angela, time to come in for lunch.”
Four year-old Angela looks down in concentration, “Hmmm…is there macaroni & cheese involved?”
How can you not love a 4 year old girl who acts like Andrei Gromyko at the SALT talks?
My mom, for various reasons, but, right now, for putting up with me while dealing with the excessive anxiety caused by drug withdrawal. I really, really hope to pay her back in some way besides paying the rent.
Cousin Mikey, must be 50 by now, lives across the street from my elderly mother. He is in chronic pain 24/7 from a bad back, gets a shopping bag, literally, of pain meds and patches. Some days he can’t get up out of bed. Yet NOTHING keeps him down. Never whines, mopes, or complains. He mows Mom’s lawn and does a lot of little things, like put up the screen in the screen door in the summer, or fix a leaky faucet. Mikey’s slowing down some now, don’t know if he’ll make old bones, but just knowing he’s there across the street from Mom, I can’t even begin to express my utter gratitude for that. He has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known.
My grandfather married a woman – my grandmother – with three children. He took care of them, fed them, worked shitty hours and struggled to make ends meet in order to provide for them when he could’ve said “let me find a woman who will have my kids,” and no one would’ve thought less of him for it. He is my grandfather, and it deeply saddens me to know that we have no genetic relation.
They took in their granddaughter, my cousin, when her drug addicted mother and in-and-out-of-jail father (my uncle) couldn’t take care of her. They took in my mother, when she hit bottom, again, despite all of the shit she makes, despite all of the insanity she brings… And not for the first time, she’s lived with them in her adult life repeatedly, including moving her husband in after she married him at the age of 18.
My grandparents, individually and together, are saints. I don’t know how, or why, their children don’t seem to think to put anything but their own self interests first, considering my grandparents example.
And my father, for outing up with my shit. If you know me, and I don’t think you do, you’ll know why.
I love my uncle Skald 'cos he tells the bestest stories.
I’ve known my best friend Lisa since we were about 10 or 12 and going to the same middle school (which would now be called a junior high school). We played hooky together, laughed together, and cried together back then…and still do these things today. We no longer try to smoke cigarettes that she stole from her mother, though.
One of the reasons that I love her is because she knows me so well. She can go in a store and pick out some great gifts for me, things that I don’t even know that I want, including a couple of books that I would not have picked out for myself. And I can do the same thing for her. It’s like we each have a mental model of the other in our minds, and we can ask ourselves if the other would enjoy this or that. It’s like I have another sister.
I named my daughter after her.
My ex husband. He comes over, he’s got a little five year old boy with him. Who’s this? The neighbours kid, ex is fed up of hearing him crying every morning, so scooped him up for an early morning lime. He comes over, who’s this? Janice is a sixteen year old with a black eye. She’s having some problems at home. He’s been sleeping in the workshop for the last week so she can have his bedroom. He’s on the phone: I need you to come over at 6am every morning this week. Who’s he talking to? Some bloke whose wife just left him. His shoulders are a mile wide. He’s a mad starving artist last seen running out of gas in front of the gas station and filling a coke can with gas to get him to the pump.
My aunt’s husband, George. He volunteers for the state emergency service and I admire him so much for it. He’s given endless hours of his own time (and his family life) to being there for people in need. Sometimes he attends accidents or incidents that shake him up so much that he’s quiet for days but he keeps on volunteering, year in and year out. He’s compassionate, caring and thoughtful, and I feel so glad to know that, on the worst day of their lives, people have him there to care for them and help them. Like all the others who do that job, he’s a special person and the rest of us are blessed to have them.