Family

 ‘Boris has pulled out.’

The push news notification came through on the nation’s collective phones and the world spun a little on it’s axis as everyone made the same, slightly rude, joke at the same time. At least he won’t be making any more family, they thought.

We were back from a family wedding and I was pinned to the sofa by the dog, who had decided that I was never leaving him again. I was thinking about what a lovely weekend we had and pondering the nature of families.

Before we went, I was worried. We have been terrible family. The Long Suffering Husband and his sister only stay in touch with occasional emails, that, as far as I am aware, talk about cars and holidays. We worked out that it had been 13 years since we saw the boys and here we were, being invited to the wedding. 

I had imagined the conversation.

“But we never see them?”

“It’s my brother!”

“Weddings are expensive.”

“I know but he’s my brother. It’s how it’s done. Weddings and funerals.”

I felt guilty.

Guilty for all the years I hadn’t made more of an effort to be a family. I hadn’t even sent birthday cards, even though both boy’s birthdates are etched into my memory, as though from acid on glass. We discussed whether it was the right thing to go. Would a polite refusal be better? Cheaper for the bride and groom, certainly but heartbreaking for the LSH’s sister.

I grew up with enormous extended family, that we stayed in touch with. We didn’t see all of my Dad’s as much; a couple of siblings were in New Zealand, another in Suffolk (which seemed just as far) and there was a generational age gap between my Dad and his oldest brother. We still all saw each other at weddings and funerals, though and with such a large family, there were lots of those. 

The LSH didn’t have that relationship with his extended family, even though it was also large. He was the last of the cousins to be born, just as most of the cousins were having children. He might have been to weddings and funerals but he doesn’t remember them. In fact, for a man who seems to remember everything now, his early memory is shocking. 

I had just started dating the LSH when the boys were born and never really became Aunty. I used to (and still do) sign the cards (that I buy, write and send) the from (uncle) LSH and Julia. 

I felt guilty about that too. I remember, as a child, feeling the pressure of family to be overwhelming. The duty and responsibility all tied up with a constant need to be sociable. I found family parties awkward and draining. You weren’t allowed to read your book and then there was all that kissing! Maybe I kept the LSH’s family apart on purpose. 

But the need for familial connection is strong and so we went to the wedding. Of course we did. And it was beautiful. And heartwarming. It was everything weddings are supposed to be. We sat with the bride’s grandad who greeted the LSH, with, “ I thought you were dead.” before keeping us all thoroughly entertained and drinking us under the table. 

We spent time reminiscing; always a balm for the soul. Watercress soup at Christmas, shared holidays for the LSH and his sister, memories of the groom’s grandparents. The deceased grandparents are always at the weddings of their grandchildren, which is pleasing to know.

These conversations with my nephews (look, I said it) were like talking to my own children and made me vow to allow them to know each other.

“Let’s not leave it so long, next time,” we all say, air kissing and hugging as we leave.

I’d like to think that I’ll be better but the list of people I should stay in touch with seems to be growing almost as fast as the list of books I want to read and although it’s an outrageous admission, I think the books might win. If you are reading this and think you might be on the other list, then you almost certainly are and my books and I would like to apologise.