Growing Up and Family

Fam left today after a mediocre road trip around my college area. My mother and I had a huge fight after I realized that I regressed every time I talked to her – that’s for another post. The past week consisted of my brother sullenly listening to an audiobook while I dragged my mother all over New England to avoid talking and fighting with her. Come the last day, I was ready for it to be over.

Except, as we were saying parting words and the car was packed, I found myself, inexplicably, crying.

They drove off, oblivious to the fact that I was holding in a bucket of tears. They began to leak out as I walked the twenty-some odd steps to my dorm, avoiding the gaze of the man rifling through the dumpster.

I guess it’s a wash of realizing that my family’s really trying. They’re flawed, but they love me, really. Even if we are vastly different and truly hate each other’s views and actions, there’s still unconditional love there. I guess that’s what family is: people that teach you to love flaws because, after all, you’re stuck with them.

And past that, I’m realizing that I really am growing up. If all goes well, I will never – never – live permanently in my parent’s house again. Never. There will be internships and jobs in the summer and I will visit for the holidays and then I will graduate and move to some city and work and get promoted and buy a house of my own. And through all that, I can only hope that I don’t hurt my mother and my father in the process.

Did I feel sad? I didn’t know. I guess I have emotions. Like, real emotions that I can’t control that I’m not ashamed of. And it’s comforting to know I’m not such a horrible person that I would feel indifferent about my family. Go figure.

And suddenly, I’m not up to the post about the flaws of my mother and I’s relationship. So, another day.

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