My family likes the abstract idea of being ‘close’ and everything associated with it. Except actually, you know, all the work that goes along with it.
You know, let’s all pretend we would do anything for each other. Let’s all pretend that without each other we would be lost. The operative word in all of this being pretend. It’s not real. It’s not from the heart – it never has been.
Instead, the my family exists in a cacophony of Chinese whispers. A world of he-said she-said that opens every achievement or failure up for dissection and discussion. That’s not a family, that’s an institution.
Since becoming pregnant I’ve received one message from a non-immediate family member – that’s it. It can’t be because nobody knows how sick I’ve been – emotionally and physically – given the amount of internal familial chatter that goes on. They know. I know they know because they’ve read my blog. They’ve read about the deep, dark baby-blues I’m struggling through. They know and yet no one has bothered to ask me, “Hey, are you OK”.
Could it be that, perhaps, they don’t care? An SMS is quick. It’s easy. It’s also very cheap.