I moved my cursor down the page and landed on this without looking, not knowing what it was.
And I like it. It’s just an image, but it’s *my* image. Random? Not really.
Families sometimes seem random to me. I mean, how much are we like each other and how much different? How did we end up with this very collection of relatives? We chose some of them, others just somehow end up there via other people’s choices.
We spent the day with cousins and “in-laws.” We were a motley yet connected collection. Our lives have been very distinctly unique — or not. We are all educated, well-off (more or less), urban-suburban, and share many memories and experiences. Or not. My cousin and I spent summers together for many years. His wife and I have spent perhaps a few days in each other’s company. His son? I’ve probably talked with for 4-5 hours total. His son’s fiancee? An hour. We have been at weddings and funerals and exchanged small talk, but so little of substance.
We went to visit my cousin’s brother’s (therefore *my* cousin’s) gravesite today. David was very much present and not-present. I’m neutral about cemeteries. I don’t think I need the gravesite to remember the life (and death), yet I can see how it serves as a–um–lodestone? A very intimate and meaningful time, spent with people known and these other family-people I hardly know. How strange.
It’s just a family, but it’s *my* family. Random? Not really.