I asked myself that question expecting an answer that I could tolerate.
The need to tell the story is found in the essence of my family, I am living in a broken hurting family system. Families are essentially systems of people and the relationships they are in. My broken family is not the only story to be told and at this time it feels a lot like a vacuum I am at the mercy of tolerant friendships.
Families represent the people who are closest to you in the world because you are biologically related to them. As this is a mandatory fact of life they are also the most capable of inflicting the most pain and harm, and in more functional, or healthy family systems the people you are related to also can create the most supportive and loving experiences of life.
Well enough of Psychology 101.
I will start with one of the first most vivid recollections of my mother.
At three years old the second brother was born. George arrived almost 12 months to the date after the birth of brother number one, Allan. I cannot recall the pregnancy but I was just old enough to understand that this person was a distinctly different person than me. But the circumstances of his birth and the emotional decibels rose considerably at George’s birth. He was “jaundiced,” and that meant to me that the baby was near death. Mother’s panic was palpable. She was frantic and I recall the infant being, “in the hospital.” I was panicked as well at the thought of a baby dying. It was the first of experience when I felt the unvarnished state of my mothers being.
That is how George came into his home. One older sister and brother to welcome him, glad to know he did not die.