Love’s Dynamic

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It strikes me that the ideal family is very similar to an atom, the basic building block of the universe. There are positive, negative and neutral charges all working together for a given purpose that goes far beyond the biological inducement to propagate the species. The family is the nucleus around which all else flows. It is multi-dimensional in that it provides the tools for learning and growth from the youngest to the oldest through the interactions of diverse personalities that can attract or repel. It is family that teaches children their own particular version of what life will be and their place in the world. It is through family that belief systems and traditions are passed on generation after generation. It is family that teaches a child by act and words that the world is beautiful or the world is ugly. Most importantly, it is within the family unit that the definition of love, for good or ill, is formed in the early years of an individual life.

It has been my privilege to observe a variety of family units both personally and through another’s eyes. In our household an alcoholic father took center stage. The other players in our little family drama were a mother and five children. A map of our many moves would show lines criss-crossed between Ontario and Southern California and then back to Vancouver, then back to California.

In the course of this unfolding drama, the three oldest sisters escaped into teenage marriages and at various times my brother and I were sent to live with other people. The couple I lived with at seven were in their mid-forties and childless. For eight months I knew what it was to be an only, much loved child. It was a time of laughter and fun. This wonderful couple taught me to ride a bike and roller skate and how to pump a swing to make it fly high in the treetops. They drew a picture for me of what a family should look like.

When I was twelve and my brother fourteen, our parents divorced. Mother, devastated at the loss of her husband to another woman and the house to the mortgage company, sent David off to England with a family acquaintance and me to live with a family from our church. So for another privileged eight months I got to live in a family where love predominated. With four boys and a daughter the household was often chaotic, but the family did everything together and laughter was a constant companion.

Were I to paint a picture of those childhood years it would be mostly in greys and black with a few splashes of bright colours representing the months spent with those other families. And yet, with the clear vision maturity affords, I can see a strong thread of colour woven into the scene that was my mother’s unfailing love. Mother, who came from a world of privilege and protection, was ill-equipped to deal with an alcoholic husband, five children and poverty. The result was an odd mixture of being needy and rock-solid strength. Hugs and expressions of love were foreign to mother, but through some kind of magic osmosis she managed to convey a love that has sustained me through many of life’s challenges.

An interesting side note here is how different my perception of mother is from that of the other children. I got to know her as an adult and remember her as an incredible woman who took up painting at sixty-nine, enrolled in a bible college at eighty and who was there for whoever needed her. What the oldest daughter remembers is a childhood completely devoid of love and attention and to this day craves it above all else. The second sister, who died in her early forties, remembers only the material poverty and spent her life ensuring she would never be poor again. The third sister remained childlike in her need for mother until the last ten years of her life. Then, when mom had a stroke and became incapacitated, it was Jane who looked after her out of love and gratitude for all the times mom had been there for her. And then there is my brother, the beloved son, who remembers only the preaching. Five children growing up in variations of the same family and yet each has their own perception and memories of those events. The variable is personality and adult experiences that have cast shadows on the memories.

Since being married to James I have come to see, in the broad strokes painted by his memory, a completely different kind of family environment. James grew up in a small town in Ontario where bonds were established in early childhood and maintained into adulthood. He was an only child, but there was a beloved aunt and grandmother, uncles, cousins and adopted family members. Dinner, often meagre, was shared with as many as ten people, all of whom were made welcome as a matter of course.

James too moved a lot, had an alcoholic father, money in short supply and a powerhouse of a mother. The difference is that his memories are a rich tapestry of play, hard work, friends and family all interwoven with the unbreakable threads of love.

The Importance of Family