For much of human history, blood relations were the basis for all relations. You carried the class, the titles, and the burdens of your ancestors.
I was always amazed that actual relationships developed out of that. Family bond is deep even when everyone involved can’t stand to be in the same room together for more than an hour.
This week, my grandmother (on my dad’s side) passed away. I regret to say that I never developed a relationship with her. I did not get to know who she was as a woman, as a wife, as a mother, and as a grandmother. My grief comes mainly from watching my dad’s quiet struggle with the passing of the woman who gave him life.
He mentioned to me with sadness that one day it’ll be his turn and after that mine, and that it’s how this short life works. There’s usually a kind of order of passing. As a family, we’re not much more than a proud group of lemmings marching off the edge of a cliff, occupied with the task of walking forward and making chatter with each other to pass the time. Never more than 3 or 4 generations make this trip together.
Rest in peace.