The concept of a family is nowhere as obvious as it once seemed. Simple: parents, siblings, a place to live, where we used to live; where those who still live, live still.
New families, next times, the simplicities gone into sickness and pain and death, and the history of what was once the present, is now simply history, memory. The sisters and brothers and you and me, we all have memories: same, different, passing by each other; reconnect sometimes, mysteriously, into friendships surpassing relationships. Sometimes these disintegrate into the renewal of the pain of the memories which could not be borne, cannot be borne: talk to my lawyer! Others, siblings, new families, new places which have, by now, grown their own memories, renew often, often enough, who we are that we once were family. “Let me in!” – we implore.
And they do, with arms open, and hearts which are pledged to remain open. And we do, trying to make sense, trying to understand, to renew the meaning of meaning, the meaning of being, of a family.