Group

When I think about family, I think about a lot of things. Sure, dysfunction and shitty old patterns or habits springs to mind. But so, too, does, love. More so than anything, when I think of family I think of love.

Love that's unconditional and true. And family makes me think of people who know you so, so well. Better than anyone ever could. And even if you don't like each other all the time, invariably, through all your troubling trials, you accept each other. There's nothing else like that in life. There are no other people like that in life. Well, there are very few things – or people - like that in life, I should say.

When I think about my family, in particular, I think it's sad that my father and I don't speak. I think it's sad but, for now, I find it necessary.

When I think about my family, in particular, I think it's amazing that my mother and my stepfather and my brother and his boyfriend came to help me work in my yard and on my house this past Memorial Day weekend. Without even the slightest hesitation. They just showed up. To help me.

This touched me. Deeply.

I remember all the times as a family in New Hampshire – before the majority of us moved to Florida – when we gathered for morning coffee as often as we could. When I lived just twenty minutes away – or even an hour away – we did this pretty often. And we jokingly called it "Group" (as in 'group therapy') and later we called it "As New Hampshire Turns" (because it was funny and because there were some very intriguing tidbits of drama that made it so). We even made a Christmas card with this name as the soap opera title, giving each of us a character in our dysfunctional 'play.'

In all honesty, these coffee mornings, these 'sessions,' if you will, bound our family tighter together, helped us grow, molded us all, each of us, uniquely, during this period of time. And it did so in a way that years past had also done but in an entirely new and different fashion. Some of us were older, yet perhaps not wiser. Some of us were young, but our souls were old and wise. Whatever the case, we learned that we had a new language to speak, one that was full of secrets, yet so full of brave honesty in the same breath, one that cared and dared to speak the truth. We were there for one another. In all the seasons. For every coffee morning that was simply about inspiration to get through the day. Or for every coffee morning that was all about something much deeper. What meant the most, I think, was that we all knew, without question, that we were there for each other.

I'll never forget these times.

My siblings never will either. It was a special time. An era, really. One in which the three of us were single, unencumbered by any sort of relationship and pure of thought; we were blank slates, ready to share and discover. It was an unusual, amazing time. Not that it was perfect or idyllic. Because, certainly, there were fights between us. Mistakes made. And silly disagreements between our parents. And, every once in a while, some needless drama, too.

Our grandmother died one summer when we all happened to be living back at home. While it was only for a few months that we all lived in that house, those months were intense and telling. As divisive as it seemed to be and perhaps felt to each of us at the time, it was, in fact, unifying. I don't think any of my siblings would disagree with that statement. It was terribly sad that our grandmother had died, although it had been within the natural order of things, it was still sad, and yet, it was freeing for our mother as their relationship had been so strained in life. She was finally, finally, able to let it go and find peace. And her pain was our pain. And her peace was our peace, too.

I believe that we all grew and changed and bonded with one another more fully during that time. It allowed us to realize the power and the strength and the unconditional love of our family and to carry on stronger than we had been before.

Today, we still do this. Here in Florida. Me, my parents, my brother Bob. The pets. Whoever wants to be there. But there is someone markedly and hugely absent. Rich.  It's as though we've relocated to a warmer climate but nothing else has really changed. We moved here for our various reasons – jobs, mostly – and other opportunities that have or have not manifested for us as yet. But someone we love is profoundly missing. Has been missing for a long, long time.

We've tried our best to recreate 'Group' or 'As NH Turns' in Maine or even back in NH, but it's been hard. Life and its circumstances get in the way. Work. Children. Families. Daily stressors. So many things can challenge the core of a family.

Rich. You are missing. We miss you. We miss your wisdom. Your wit. Your intelligence. And reason.

You are a father now. A husband. A man with his own thriving business. Whatever you do, you are our hero in so many ways. We are proud of you. We love you. And we miss you.

We miss you. 

From Florida to New Hampshire, at some point this week, or even tomorrow, we'll have coffee together and we'll think of you. As we always do. As we always are.