Reflections on Marrying a Family

They say that you don’t marry a man, you marry his family.  They turned out to be right.  

We’ve been married 8 months and for 1 month of it, we’ve spent the majority of our time at the hospital.  With the family.  With our huge Jewish and Italian mix of a family who call it “The Family” as though we just stepped off the set of The Sopranos.  Where people yell first (they call it talking) and then eat.  Manga, manga!  

You think that you can control your family interactions.  You think you can control your life.  You can’t fully control either when someone is in the hospital.  You just have to show up and deal.  Sometimes, it’s a riot.  Everything is funny, everything is a joke.  Sometimes, it’s a riot.  Everything is like tear gas grenades and rubber bullets.  

Life is the place where dysfunction intermingles with quirks, grooms personalities, and intrudes into relationships.  The hospital is the place where dysfunction meets grief.  In the throes of that grief is where you realize you just married the family.  There’s no controlling it and there’s no escaping it.  

Thankfully, you also realize that you just married the family.  The family is full of life, faith, and hope.  The family is full of grandparents who take an interest in your work (welcome) and your love life (less welcome).  It’s full of enough people who love to eat that you know you’ll never go hungry as long as you’re in the family.  And it’s full of people who say, “Welcome to the family!  We’re glad you’re here.”

 

Photo by Sam Hughes

What has your experience been like marrying a family?