Relationships over time

I was someone's brother, once 

In retrospect, this recognition of ourselves in relation to others must normally evolve over the course of our lives.  For a time, while we are children, it defines us: we are our parents' son or daughter, and sometimes in some of our circles we will forever be known primarily by that relationship.  Our middle daughter was lamenting last night at our parish's All Saints/All Souls bonfire that she's mostly known in the parish as "the guitar guy's daughter," which is a shame because she has plenty of involvement of her own.  Likewise, I was once someone's grandson, and Shirley's son, and in some people's minds I suppose we remain defined by those relationships long after the person has died.  But mostly, as we grow into our own selves, we grow out of being defined by these relationships.

Still, we expect to carry some relationships throughout our lives, not for the purpose of defining us but for the richness of the unique aspects of history and interaction that they bring to us.  While there are people who know me primarily as Teri's husband, these know and appreciate that I am a person with my own unique gifts and interests, too.  They know my wife far better than me, though, so that is primarily who I am to them.  But the value, the treasure of being Teri's husband is not in my identity but in the relationship we share together.  While it doesn't define me, it does challenge me to become who I should be.  This is one example of a relationship that we expect to last most of our lives.  This relationship deserves much more discussion and elaboration than I'm going to give it here, but that isn't the point . . .

We expect the same of our relationships with our children, and there is no hole in our lives that rivals the loss of one of our children.  Whether through death or estrangement, no loss is quite like it.  No matter how many children we have, our relationship with each of them is different, but in each case it is a person for whom we have been completely responsible for a time and, though many carry it to an unhealthy extreme, the person they become bears a reflection of us.  (There's a lot to be careful of there; we can't accept too much credit for who they become, nor accept too much blame.)  Yet when one of our children is gone, the loss of that reflection is not the most painful part of the emptiness they leave behind.  It cannot be explained, especially by someone who has never experienced it for himself (and prays he never will).

So, too, our relationships with our siblings.  I remember my eventual stepfather lecturing my sister and I when we'd argue as teenagers.  Oh, how she used to yank my chain!  He told us over and over again that the day would come when we would rely on each other as no one else in the world.

When she died, we were just starting to get there.