While we often don't realize it our lives are affected, and sometimes even determined, by external factors. Like who are ancestors were, what kinds of society they lived in, what possibilities and limitations they experienced. These factors are as salient as our personal choices.
Today is the anniversary of my father's death (12/11/22). When he died, not only did an individual pass away but the last link to my childhood-family was also severed. Premature losses of my mother and brother thirty years ago were traumatic but my father's continued presence represented something essential. "We" still existed. I wasn't alone (yet). Now I am.
My nuclear family, created in a newly nuclear age, was enviable. Our resources were manifestly meager but our familial bond was rich. For different reasons my mother and father wanted and clung to the very idea of family. Both of them grew up in a chaotic time (World War II); both felt insecure to the bone. Seeking survival and stability my mother designed a structure for the four of us. (It included, not incidentally, some extended relatives.) Everyone was required to adhere to her plan regardless of personal preference. As they say on Star Trek: Next Generation, "resistance [was] futile."
So when I mourn my father, I also consider the larger context in which he played a role. A close-knit family that supported all of us, as disparate and flawed as each of us were. I now see and appreciate what my mother fabricated out of thin air: a coterie of loving support. Without it I would have perished.
Thank you, Mom. Thank you, Dad. Thank you, Richard.
