a broken home

Hello my name is Aimee and this is a real life adventure (or tragedy rather)...

I was walking through Michaels on one of my many craft binges and found a scrap booking accessory. It was the word family spelled out in all lowercase letters. The sparkly light green word looked so pretty that I imagined what it would look in a book of memories. Only I couldn't think of what picture I would put on the page with it. Growing up I have many memories of the ill-defined term 'family'. It doesn't necessarily mean the people I am biologically related to, but the ones that matter the most in my life. In 21 years I cannot recall as much change within our family as I have seen in the last year. While this has enabled me to accomplish the most growth as a person I can ever remember, it has also left me feeling empty and alone.

When did the time arrive that I no longer wished to live with my parents but, to only see them on some Sundays and traditional holidays? The individual choices of the people I share genetic matter with have affected the relationships between every person in my immediate family. As a result a chain reaction has occurred forcing me to forge different friendships and comfort levels with people I have known for my entire life and those I have just met. It is more common to find a broken family than one that has stuck out the hard times together. I always liked to think of myself as one that strung her broken family together. That despite the divorce, we could still love and appreciate one another. Now I don't know if I will ever be able to bring our tattered family together again.

Playing the role of "the rock" for most of my life, I have always put the duty of keeping my family together in the face of grief, anger, and fear above all else. My instincts toward my little sisters are maternal as opposed to being a big sister. I have been the go-between for our parents through four years of divorce. Despite receiving grey hair (I honestly hope is a result of genetics), an ulcer, late nights and early mornings I could always look forward to sitting down at the dinner table with all the people I love on Thanksgiving, or under the tree on Christmas. These days I can hardly make it through a phone conversation. I constantly wonder if this is merely a selfish act on my part, or if for the first time in my life things are beyond my control and my worst fear is confirmed: my family is falling apart.

For many, this is an irrelevant topic. Plenty of families are never the same after divorce. The sad thing is, is that ours was. We made it over the hill and through the woods, only to find out we left all of our rock climbing equipment at home. And boy do we have a mountain in front of us.

I've always hated the cliche saying "sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me". The third grader uttering the foolish phrase obviously never felt the daggers pierce their skin after a sideways comment from someone whom they loved. I constantly wonder if this feeling is normal. Is feeling out of control and homeless simply a rite of passage into adulthood? Or am I finally coming into touch with the way things have been for awhile?

I have a reoccurring dream that varies in detail, but always ends the same way. My littlest sister Abbey is constantly in the face of death all the while I panic and spend every waking moment I can with her, the rest of our family hardly notices her worsening condition or my exasperation. Each time the dream ends with her dying in my arms. With tears, wailing, or eerie silence I can never grasp the attention of my father long enough for him to see that he has lost his youngest daughter. The irony of this situation is that it would take death for him to see what he no longer has. Becoming wrapped up in new found interests and a second family has left his first one shocked, alone, and fatherless. What is to become of the letters that once spelled out our family is unknown. What I do know is that they probably aren't green, and certainly do not sparkle anymore.