I was in third grade when I made friends with a girl named Annette.  Annette had curly brown hair, which in third grade meant more frizz than curl.  She was tall, much taller than me but her most unique feature was her family.  Her mother had died and her father had remarried a widow.  Between the two of them they had 15 children.  Her house was always filled with people and she talked all the time about her aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, etc, etc.  I was jealous.

I moved around a lot as a kid and although I’m very close with my immediate family I never had the comfort of an extended family.  We would see my grandparents every couple of years.  My aunts, uncles and cousins were mainly names to me with only a handful of visits during my childhood.  Don’t misunderstand, there was love.  Oh yes, there was always lots of love and when we were together it was always fun and exciting – but our meet ups were rare.

I grew up longing for an extended family that was close.  A family to whom you could fall into every time you saw each other.  A family who enveloped you and surrounded you and smothered you.  I wanted a big, messy, loud family with kids and cousins and aunts and uncles.  And then I met David, and this is his family (minus one aunt and uncle and accompanying cousins who couldn’t make it):

A big family brings conflict and obligation and hurt feelings.  This is true.  We have so many birthdays between January and April we actually refer to it as the “birthday season”.  The family has its own system for conflict resolution and there are enough people to warrant our own Facebook fan page. I frequently joke that I feel as if I married into the mob without all the murder and illegal activity.  There is a boss (although they call her “sister”) and there are fractions, and sub-groups, and an unspoken mode of communication.

However, nothing can replace the feeling of knowing that you are always one phone call away from an army of assistance, or that feeling of support when you look up into the stands and see your own personal cheering section. Every person’s success is cheered and celebrated, and every person’s failure mourned and consoled.  Mistakes are forgiven and change is always welcomed.

People say, “be careful what you wish for because you might just get it”.  I did wish, for many years, to have a large family, and I indeed got that when I married David. I am most grateful that THAT wish came true.

The surgery had taken longer than we expected.  The doctor had said three and a half hours but after Mom’s extended stay in the “recovery” room we were creeping up on five.  The surgery had been a success, of this we had been reassured.  However, she was slow to wake up and she would still be heavily medicated when we would finally be able to see her.   My father, sister and I started to anxiously pace.  Time had slowed to a stand still and every opening of the waiting room door would cause us to involuntarily whip our heads around.  Finally, the nurse, in a deceivingly pleasant tone ushered us into my mother’s hospital room.

The room was brightly lit and although she was awake she was hardly aware of her surroundings.  My father, large and lumbering tucked his tears back into his eyes as he gently touched my Mother and let her know we were there.  She quietly stirred and in a panic filled voice asked, “is it over?”  She would ask this question countless times over the next 24 hours incapable of holding onto any thought long enough to keep it.  Each time we would reassure her that yes, it was over, that the surgery had been a success and that she would be on the mend soon enough.  She begged my sister and I to promise that we would not leave her side and we pledged our obedience again and again. We would not leave. We would stay by her side.

The next 48 hours proved challenging as Mom slipped in and out of lucidity.  Sometimes reminding us to not let the dog get out, or complaining that she was tired and needed to go to bed, even though she was already in bed.  However, it was in the middle of those sometimes laughable moments that my sister and I discovered Mom’s true fears.

We mentioned that David and Marvin were going to be coming by to say “hi” and Mom grew quite concerned.  “Why are they coming by?” she demanded.  “They love you and they just want to see how you are doing”.  She gathered her strength as her eyebrows knitted together into obvious concern, “Why are they coming? What is wrong? What aren’t you telling me?” My sister and I exchanged confused looks, “nothing is wrong Mom. Were not hiding anything.”  This was not good enough and my Mother quickly grew angry.  She started to shout “What is wrong? Why are they coming? I know you are hiding something from me?” The recognition of her concern washed over me and it became my turn to brush my tears under the rug.  My Mother thought she was dying and nobody was telling her.

This woman who raised three children, never asking or saving anything for herself.  This woman, who sacrificed EVERYTHING from her body to her heart in the name of her children and husband. This woman who hid every sign of weakness from all of her children under the mask of being a tough, brutal, broad was lying in front of me frightened of her own death.

I took a deep breath, gently held my Mother’s hand and said, “Mom, you are not dying. The doctor said the surgery went just fine, the boys are coming just to say ‘hi’.”  Her tears leaked down her face onto her pillow as she quietly confessed “I was afraid they would find cancer once they opened me up”.  The idea would have seemed laughable if she hadn’t been so obviously frightened. “No Mom. No cancer. No nothing. You are fine, outside of the six screws and two metal rods. If you want to worry about something try the metal detector at the airport. Security is going to be a bitch now.”  She squeaked a smile and went back to sleep.