Perusing Facebook, it has become blatantly obvious that I do not know my family. Either side. Mom and I moved to Texas when I was 12, so that means that almost 19 years have passed since I have been part of the family. My cousins are married and have kids. They have jobs and stories that I’ve never heard of before. They are like strangers to me. And what’s worse, is that they probably know my dad better than I do. They certainly see him more often.
This picture is from Melissa’s wedding, and it was really nice to get all of the Millers (and marrieds) together. I wish I could do that more. I think that there is a Larson family reunion in South Dakota in the fall. I think Grandma, Mom, Linda, and Jo are all planning on attending. I don’t think I really *know* anyone, but it would be nice to meet these people. I have heirlooms that are connected to them sitting here in my house and it would be nice to know their stories and what they have.
There’s just something earthy about family. It’s like I feel like a little transplanted plant that just keeps moving from pot to pot as I get bigger, never really finding my permanent home. Like I have never really been able to just stretch out my roots and grow because I know that I’ve been confined to a crappy little pot.
I have no need for potting soil anymore. I’m home.