Family

When I was teaching, a common beginning-of-the-year activity was to have the kids draw a picture and write about their families. I remember talking about it with more experienced teachers in planning who emphasized telling the kids to only include their IMMEDIATE family. If you didn't, they would include everyone they know- their parents, their aunts and uncles, the kid next door, the man they saw picking his nose on the bus...

I've known for a long time that I'm a part of the best family in the world. I would apologize to the other families I've spent time with, but every time I leave someone else's house or family function, I can't help but realize how awesome we are. I think about how genuinely caring my parents are, how funny my brother and sister are, how warm and welcoming my aunts and uncles and grandparents are (even if we sometimes act a little bit more inappropriately than we should).

After sitting in a hospital waiting room for six days, I've let go of that need to limit the definition of family to the ones sharing the same roof and last name. I still believe that I'm part of the best family of the world, but that family is not just the people I spend Christmas and Thanksgiving with. It's more than the people invited to weddings and graduation parties and family birthday parties. It encompasses a group of people that feels the triumphs and disappointments of my immediate family, a group that rushes to share in our joint happiness and hurt.

My family is the community that knows where we live and where we work. The people who went to elementary and middle and high school with us, who watched us compete from the stands and read about us in the newspaper. It's the students of my parents and the teachers of my siblings and me. It's the coaches and the teammates and the colleagues, the bank tellers and the grocery store workers and the bartenders. Our small town can seem like too much to bear, but at times like these it is a force of incredible support.

My family is the neighbors that watched us as we grew up. The kids who played Fox and the Hounds every night of the summer, who played in our playhouse and swam in our pool. It's the people who lent us money for the Hokey Pokey truck, the ones who pet Tuffy as they walked by. It's those who sat in our kitchen all hours of the night, who drank beer at "Lou's" and by our firepit. The ones who came by for our "town meetings."

My family is the friends who might as well be family, who have reached out over hundreds and thousands of miles to send their love and support. They are the ones who traded reward points for hotel rooms, who picked through our underwear drawers, who somehow made us laugh. They have sat with us in the waiting in silence, knowing that it may be just what we need.

My family is the teammates that played with Jon and Kristin and me. My college coach always told us that you have your friends, and then you have your teammates. Every e-mail ended with "Stay strong, stay together" and I have never seen that more true than the past few days. Strings of lacrosse players, volleyball players, and runners have sent thoughts, prayers, embarrassing pictures... everything you could think of. They remind me of the importance of friendship and camaraderie, the need for support and perseverance. Teammates do not care whether they competed with you or against you. An East High lacrosse player carried in the West High victory poster into Jon's hospital room. THAT's family.

As horrible as the past week has been, I've been carried by the strength of a thousand honorary sisters, brothers, aunts, and uncles. And I cannot thank you enough.