Reflections

“Blood…”

Blood…  Cold as ice, or in a boiling rage…

Pulsing through my veins…

Pumping through my heart…

The liquid of my physical life,

containing all the secrets of my physical existence.

I’ve never truly felt the “call” of blood, being so physically detached from the concept of family, and completely denied the knowledge of my own genetic history.

Except when I was young, and it was us against the world.  I understood then.  But “blood” back then was a battle cry used to separate us from the influence of others, to isolate, and protect our darkest secrets…

I felt it again when I birthed my child.  A fierce need to protect the product of my womb.  An innate understanding of my daughter’s needs and moods.  It was profound, pulling me out of my self-imposed shell to tend to the needs of another.  In that case, “blood” became a measure of sacrifice, for what wouldn’t I do to ennable her as she carved her own initials upon the world around us?

And then, again, as each of my grandchildren were born.  “Blood” once removed, it’s call gentled, but deeper somehow.  A strong sense of the profound, continuity, as three generations stood together upon the same ground…

But then last night came.  And went.  But as it passed, I came awake, if only for a moment.  Sitting there, three generations complete, in blood, bonded in a way words cannot convey.  Those children “knew” him, their grandfather they’d never met.  Something in them recognized him, and responded, as only family can do.  No hesitation, no holding back; tears and laughter merging without fear or shame…

Comfort…

Contentment…

Completion…

It must be something in the blood…

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