F A M I L Y
If there's one thing I have learned so far, it's this:
Family does not have to be blood. Blood is not thicker than water. Family are the people you love and want to be around often.Family can be anyone you want it to be.
You can have your own opinions on this and that's totally fine. But after watching the 'Generation Cryo' on MTV, I can so relate to what is going on in it. Being adopted, whether you are adopted in your family or by strangers, or even like the kids on that show and just have donors that made it possible for them to be alive and breathing, we can all relate with a few things. 1.) We want to know our biological blood ties. This is not a way to hurt the people that raised us. This isn't our way of saying 'hey, I know you raised me all this time, and now I want to ignore all the love and work you did for me and just call this stranger that carried me for 9 months/donated sperm my parent and love them'. No. It's a closure. It's closure. That's all. 2.) Genetics make a person who they are a lot. You should know your ancestry, your history. Even knowing medical history can help you with knowing what may come in the future.
For me, when I first found out I was adopted, I knew my mom, she had been in and out of my life as my older sister (which is what she wanted, all her idea) so I had no questions about who she was. I wanted to know who the man was, the guy I get my red hairs from, the guy in the pictures holding me the day I was born. I barely knew of him, I barely heard anything about him. When he and my mother had gotten a divorce, he fell off the map practically. He had been given the chance to be around and visit me if he wanted, he did once after the adoption then he quit.
I was 16 when I got a myspace message from a boy. I had no idea who he was, he was older than me and lived 30 minutes away. He said he was my brother. My jaw dropped. I started talking to him and then got my father's phone number. Of course, when my dad who raised me found out I wanted to know him and about his side of the family, his feelings was hurt. It took a bit to realize I wasn't replacing him, I was just curious.
The curiosity got me pretty far. I lived with the man twice, getting to know my two older brother's from him, and a few other family members. It was awkward. No lie. Awkward as hell. Plus I felt out of place. No one really came out of their way to be around me, talk to me, and it had been 13 years. I wasn't stupid. By this time, social media was out there, we had not moved and lived at the same address so they knew where I was living. I gave it a chance. It was blown. I was judged because of who birthed me. That evil woman was ruining my dream of a big family and didn't even know it. What a bitch. My father, he was given a chance when my mother came crawling back to him. I told him I wanted nothing to do with her and he was to choose to take her back and have her ruin his life again or have his daughter. He chose the first and I haven't spoken to him since.
The fact that I at least tried and gave him a chance, whether he blew it and I realized what he was like or not, I had the closure. I know now that I am better off without the added drama from either of my biological parents, one partying with the college kids, drinking his money away with the other one being a Xani gold digger.
As for people I have had in my life, people on the maternal side that have been around, it's not so fantastic either. My great grandmother (who we all called Mother) died in 1999. Friday the 13th in August to be exact. She had a heart attack making coffee early in the morning. She was the glue that held the whole family together. When she died, we fell apart. Fights broke out over her possessions when we cleaned out her house and grudges still remain. One aunt and Mom have made up in the recent years. The aunt I grew up being around. The aunt I spent summers swimming in her pool and staying up late drinking Mountain Dew with. She always felt like I was the daughter she never had. Then the fight broke out over Mother's stuff and she was part of the family we never talked to anymore. Mom and her are great now, talking daily. Me on the other hand, not so much. My aunt that supposedly felt like I was the daughter she never had couldn't hold her tongue after I moved out the first time at 17. I had graduated high school a year early at the top of my class. I was going to college. I lived with my boyfriend and we were doing our best to make our own lives. She proceeded to write me not one, but two emails stating I was doing a wrong thing, hurting my parents by moving out, I was ugly, dressed terribly, had a terrible boyfriend and was pretty much a good for nothing nobody going nowhere in life. Well then. She has tried being nice, getting me gifts for holidays, telling mom to tell me this that and the other. But until I get an apology (which will be never since it's been 5 years) I don't have much for her either. This aunt had dropped out of high school at 16 to have a baby. She married and is still married to that man to this day. But, they're the richest part of the family we have. Why do this to me? Because I was doing really well at 17? No idea. But, that's blood for ya.
The man I have called Daddy all my life is of no blood relation to me. He is my maternal grandmother's (who I call Mom) second husband. My biological grandfather is the man my biological mother gets her evil ways from, an abusive lying man who I care nothing for. I have seen him once in my life at a funeral, he ignored me and I him. Anyways, Daddy is the closest family member I have besides my little brother who I have not seen in 4 years. He is my safe haven, the person I turn to when I need a laugh, the man that I aspire to be like, and the person I work hard to make the proudest. He has proven to me that blood means nothing. You can love anyone you want to, and make family by being there for someone.
Another man that has proven to me that family doesn't have to be genetic, was a neighbor. My previous boyfriend when I first moved from home and I rented our first place only a few miles down from where I grew up. It was a small, quiet neighborhood of duplexes, brick to exact. The man in the other side of ours was a handicap older man, with a fake leg. He sat on the little concrete area in front of the duplex all the time, watching everyone come and go. We had lived there for at least 6 months before we really go to know him. I worked a lot, so my boyfriend started to get to know our neighbors before I did. He was like that, always social and making friends. I am the type to stay to myself and in the house, but since he was a smoker and walked the neighborhood a couple times a day to kill his lungs, he met people. When he met Hauke, he was having his grandsons over. The youngest was the most adorable boy I have ever seen, and I am not even a kid person. We started grilling more with him and hearing his stories about war. He was originally born on a German island and came to America with his family when he was young. I heard all his stories about his ex wives, his time in the army being a ladies man, and his love for his sons. He had three sons and now several grandsons. What I learned first was that Hauke was away from everyone, his closest son was still 20 minutes away and no one really seemed to concerned about him, even though he was diabetic and struggling with some heart issues. 
I started getting close to him after my boyfriend had to call an ambulance as Hauke was having a heart attack. He was in his living room, as usual, and then lost his breath. My boyfriend was smoking in front of the building and saw through the window what was happening. Hauke ended up having open heart surgery. When he came back home, I started spending my evenings with him since my boyfriend worked evenings and I worked a 9 to 5 job. We started watching Two and Half men daily, grilling salmon, and sharing laughs. I realized this man was a great soul, and he was like me. His so called family was deserting him, leaving him in this duplex off in the country and away from them. Even when he was in poor health they didn't come see him. When he was struggling with his diabetes at 3 am, he'd call me to bring him all the sugar in my kitchen, not his sons. When he needed help with groceries, he called me. When he wanted to play cards, he called me. He was the grandfather I never had, and I was the daughter he never had. He sang a song in his convertible gold Sebring that I plan to do this day to play on my wedding day, since he always said he would sing it to me on that special day. When he had his last heart attack, he was taken to a hospital and then a hospice. I visited him once with another neighbor I had become friends with. His son had his cell phone and promised to keep me updated. I went to visit him again a week or so later, and he was moved. Because I wasn't kin, I wasn't allowed to know where he was moved to. I got to see him twice after he had been moved. That was it. His sons didn't care. They didn't care he was family to me now. They didn't care that I wanted to be there in his dying days. I tried everything I could. I tried emailing, calling all numbers I had, and even Facebook. Nothing. Not a damn thing. I found out Hauke died December 1 of 2010 via an internet search in 2011. I found out via google. No one telling me. I don't even know where this man is buried, and have even tried messaging the sons and their wives, with no answers. This man was more family to me than I can even begin to explain. He gave me advice I hold on to dearly. He gave me a light in a time of darkness that I needed more than he ever even knew. I can only hope he knew I wanted to be with him, I wanted to be by his side. And I have felt so guilty for not even being able to see him in his grave. I can't buy him flowers and visit his grave. I can only remember the words he said, and have a tattoo in his memory.
'You're young. Act like it.'
'If you keep taking life too seriously, it's going to pass you before you can enjoy it.'
My tattoo on my left shoulder says Obliviscar which is Latin for never forget. I got it after I learned of his death.
Family is who you love. Love to the fullest. Hold on to the moments with the ones you love. And never forget the people who change you.
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