A poised, beautiful and independent 32-year-old marries a man with two kids on a dry February day, and the rest is history. As much as I am grateful to the union (or I won’t be here, writing) some fundamental issues about family dynamics seep into my conscious late at night, making me prone to inquisitively searching for responses no one is equipped to give.
My mother has 3 children – only one was birthed by her. The others were destined in her life, as she puts it. I never had any idea that this was the reality I would have to face, sooner or later. The truth always comes out. Being in such a complex family situation has given me insight, if not about something unique but about life itself. The transitory nature of life never resonated with my over-attached nature. It is far more difficult to let a person out than to let one in.
Having two siblings growing up was always inspiring. Their love moved me in several ways, but as I move towards finding my identity and my space in this world, my mother is the one whose actions can’t be deconstructed by my newly emerging awareness. She’s the one who had so much to give yet received so little.
After watching numerous movies on this social concept of ‘motherhood’ and meeting people who have embraced others like their own, I believe love and family is something that isn’t remotely related to blood – which was a sensitive subject growing up. Mother embraced someone completely foreign to her love and became a wife, made a bond with them which will be cherished throughout life. As I think about her, looking at her twinkling eyes, I can’t ignore the truth I see in them, which are self-explanatory of years of questions society subjected her to. The more I think about her and her choices, the more dubious I feel in my own. I feel her actions and selfless nature will be a mystery I will die solving and that’s the beauty of it.