My blogging buddy, Susanna, over at Behind My Eyes, wrote a lovely post about a friend whom she doesn't see often, but cherishes in her life and this got me thinking about my good friends.
The family I was born into kicks arse. What can I say? It's true. My parents are loving, kind, generous, funny and even a little wicked (in sense of humor at least.) But the one thing this arse-kicking family didn't give me was a sister, so, like all sister-less daughters, I went out into the wide world and found my own sisters--Which, if you ask me, is a far superior way of gaining a sister than being born into a family with one, because you can choose as many as you want, and they usually don't ask to borrow your clothes, unless of course, they do.
I have twelve sisters. None of them are related to me by birth or blood, but I know that if I called them in the dark of night and needed to dispose of a body, they would be there--and of course, I would drive through the dark of night to help them dig a grave too. (O.K., now this is just getting weird, but you know what I mean, right?)
Some of my sisters live right down the street. Some live far far away. Some I talk to everyday, some twice a week, or some even just once a year. Time and distance don't define our love for one another. When we meet, it's like we never stopped talking. These sisters lift, support, encourage, and just love in perfect authenticity.
And I love them too--even when they ask me to bring a shovel.
Where have you found family?