Blessed be the ties that bind

Some of us never grow up and leave home.  The faces change.  The locations change, even the names change, but the feelings and the thoughts are basically the same.

The children turn into our brothers and sister and we become our parent, whichever one we feel most akin to I suppose.  It can be a sign of great love, but I suspect it is something more and it really isn't fair to the new children.

They get assigned roles they were never born to and it must be confusing to have a parent for a brother or sister.  Children, of course, roll with the punches.  They don't know any better. Their experience is as uniquely theirs as anyone elses.  But being recycled siblings is surreal.

Dreams confuse brothers and sisters with children, parents with spouses, and the houses all blend into one nightmare where its impossible to remember the desk that is yours because it has changed a lot over time along with everything else.

And then one afternoon you have a dream that you are in an empty house waiting for everyone to come home, a strange dog lies asleep at your feet.  His fur is short and prickly.  His body too long for your dog and you realize your father isn't sleeping in the next room anymore and your husband decided to go back without really spending time with you and the people downstairs are not your brothers and sisters, but your children and when you wake up you have broken the ties that bind.

Everyone needs a mom or dad who teaches them how to grow up, how to succeed, how to live in the world.  They need role models and the less confused the role models are, the easier it is for the children.

The ties that bind may be love, or fear, or unfulfilled needs, but each generation needs to forge wiser, healthier ones than the ones that came before and be ready to let their children forge theirs.