It's a totally simple yet utterly perplexing premise.
It's the people with whom you share genetic material, right? Maybe. Maybe not.
It's the people who raise you, right? Maybe. Maybe not.
When a concept can be defined with nearly unlimited variants, you have to wonder about the viability of the word to be able to convey a unified idea to anyone who hears it.
And yet. (Yes, I started a sentence with a conjunction. And I'll likely do it again.)
And yet... say the word family to anyone in the world and they will know know deeply. They will first think of their own family. If they can get past all the thoughts that process engenders, they may be able to conceive that your family (in all likelihood) differs a great deal from their own.
Beyond that, well, that's where all of life's greatest triumphs and tragedies reside, no? There are people related to me by blood for whom I have strongly negative feelings, while there are people I've known less than a quarter of my life for whom I have the fondest of feelings.
Your family is comprised of all those people you love - whether that be one person or a hundred and fifty. The people to whom you can turn for help, even if asking for that help is the hardest thing you've ever done. The people, regardless of their genetic composition, that form the basis of your life. You never know when they'll enter your life... or when they'll leave it.
I'd like to think I have something profound to say to close off this post, but I don't. I've just been thinking lately about all the folks I love and it's quite a list. A list I'm very proud of, at that!
Not the Post I Wanted To Write
4 weeks ago