When I was little, my gram taught me about family; not with words, but with how she lives and loves. I happen to be her birth grandchild, but that is not why she loves me. She adopted one of her five children and harbors anyone else who needs her. She calls us all her kids. Her love is big, unlabeled and unconditional.
Tonight my son's birth family hosted us for a birthday dinner. Patrick turns 12 next week. His little siblings, Kylie (5 soon) and Matthew (almost 3) adore him and their big sister, Harper.
Patrick and Kylie (Kylie calls him "Little Pat" which is funny since he is twice her size!)
Kylie and Matthew
Pat and Kylie
Little Pat, aka, Big Manny and Matthew, aka, Little Manny
Sisters by any other name...
Mommy Sherry made Patrick a delicious and beautiful homemade birthday cake.
Not pictured are all of Pat's four parents, 4 of his grandparents and an uncle. Sherry and Big Pat served a delicious, home-cooked meal. We make a funny sort of family, all of us together. We come together regularly because we love our little, growing bigger boy. But over these almost 12 years, we've come to love each other, too. I'm humbled that the Barretts have shared their lives with us. Big Daddy Pat is a self-proclaimed redneck who likes to go mudding and Grandpa David is an undeniable academic planning his trip to France and adjusting his solar panel. Yet everyone is happy to be together, eat good food and get full and chase the little kids and make them laugh. Together we marvel at this incredible musician/artist/funny-man/kind, good boy who is our son, brother, nephew and grandson. Some kind of just right luck, mixed with lots of uncertainty, and, to be honest, loss and pain, brought us all together. I'm so glad.
Family.
