Family Ties

Ah, family ties. I've lived many miles apart from my family of origin for nearly 40 years. We're related to each other by blood, but in our fast-paced world, it's easy to feel disconnected from family members that we don't see often enough. Yet the last few weeks have assured me that the phrase "family ties" describes more than just a 1980's sit-com.

August began with a long-awaited vacation to Maine where five adults and a very mobile 17-month-old crowded into a two-bedroom cottage a few blocks from the ocean. Did I mention that the lovely Madelyn Simone was sick? And that her portable crib fit only in our bedroom? Good thing we weren't the subject of a reality TV show that week.

In retrospect, we did have a good time together, and the rough spots were smoothed over by the fact that we do love each other. When we flip through the photos from the summer vacation of 2011, we'll chuckle about all the lobster Dan ate, wave every time Madelyn's mount comes into sight on her first merry-go-round ride and hear the waves slapping against the rocks at Two Lights. We'll remember that it was good to be together.

The tail end of the month brought two hospital stays, beginning with an overnight admission for little Madelyn as she battled pneumonia (and yes, I have permission to share her medical diagnosis with the world). The second is a continuing hospitalization for my mother after emergency surgery (and no, her medical condition and her age will not be published in the pages of the Times-Gazette -- no way am I getting into trouble on this one -- with her or with HIPPA).

Here are the two women whose lives bookend my life, both in the hospital on the same weekend. Sitting at my mom's bedside for days in the intensive care unit, I had plenty of time to dredge up childhood memories and to dream about what the future may hold for all four generations. Who was -- and is -- this woman who gave me birth? Who will Madelyn Simone become? And what is my space between them?

While there, a package arrived from my cousin, Bill, who's had an avid interest in genealogy for many years. One photo from his bound collection was a family snapshot taken on my first Christmas. My mom's smile is stunning, and I can sense her happiness as she attempts to corral her curious 10-month old long enough for the camera to capture the image. That glow of hope and expectation is repeated in the eyes of my son as he gazes at his new-born daughter from the screensaver on my cell phone. Family ties.

During the waiting hours in ICU, I read some rather mindless novels selected from the used book rack at the hospital gift shop. As mindless as the books promised to be, they also raised the same themes as did my thinking, remembering and praying. The value of life. The gift of memory. The complicated connections of family. The helplessness brought on by the illness of one you love, young or old.

That was the worst part of both hospital visits -- the helplessness. I couldn't truly comfort. I couldn't keep the pain away. I'm not even sure that my mother knew I was with her during those first days after surgery as her body conserved its energy for the task of healing. But I wanted to be present in that room. I didn't want her to be alone.

That is the irony of life. We are solitary beings. Our physical lifeline to our parents is cut at birth. We are alone. And yet we are born into families, we live in communities, we share in beliefs. When one hurts, another does as well. We are tied to each other.

I'm grateful that family ties are elastic. They're stretched by miles and years, but they don't snap apart. They tug on us to drive through the night when the unexpected phone call comes. We follow their slender ribbons to reunions and hospital rooms, to wakes and weddings. After all, we are family.

Blest be, indeed, the ties that bind.