Family-(fam-uh-lee) noun. A. A social group consisting of one or more parents taking care of one or more children.
I’m not going to lead you on an emotional adventure leading with a heartfelt coming of age story involving myself and what it means to me. The honest truth is that I never knew what that word [family] meant. I grasped certain ideas of what that word meant, but unless ‘disfunctional’ was a clear-cut adjective in its description, it would never be remotely close to what I’d amount as what I’d define as family.
I’m an adopted 27 year old who’s foster mother died when I was 13. I’d only known her for four years, but God bless her soul, she was a saint. My M.d. father was an Arab and loved my mother very much, but not as much as my mother’s crusade in saving the young and cursed. I’d fended for myself like a feral boy in the woods with wolves my entire life. Ridicule and twisted words became my daily sermons and on some days, I had faith in those words.
Until I met Tiffany. She was adopted as well, but you’d never know unless she told you herself. She was raised by wolves as a wolf herself and showed me I didn’t have to take the world on, on my own anymore. It was as if I had been shown a side of the green grass I’d been standing on. She told me it was greener than I had thought.
Then one day, it all ended. I suppose it could be chalked down to her finding even greener grass… on another lawn. I did everything I could to stop it from happening, but it only made matters worse. Relationships are like sand, the harder you grip onto it, the more will escape your fingertips. You have to have an open hand in order to retain the most sand. Nothing is ever the same again, every time your heart dies. It can repair itself, but with brand new precautions to avoid the same chaos. Tiff showed me what a family could mean, and I’d shown her that I wanted one with her.