People Are Like Islands, Even Family

If you make yourself an island, I’m gonna sail straight out to you…
— “Island,” Julia Fordham, 1989

People are like islands. Some are welcoming, surrounded by lush blue waters and tropical greenery. They have piers and bridges making it easy to arrive and depart. Others are remote, planted far away from civilization and devoid of any man-made amenities. Those waters are intimidating, casting a dark hue that permanently shades the landscape.

My family are now islands. Yes, plural. Before my father’s death in 2006 I thought we were all on one island sharing the same emotional and sometimes even physical terrain. Sadly, that is no longer the case. Time, personalities, and even emotions have created a splinter effect.

When I was an adolescent and into my early teen years, my brother and I shared a bedroom and a house owned by my parents. Our relationship was steady but sometimes rocky. Really, we were typical brothers getting on each other’s nerves and yet coming together in a rare act of solidarity when the time was right. My brother had a bit of a tumultuous young adult life before he diligently worked on himself and emerged a truly beautiful human being.

My brother and I are on separate islands. But they sit close enough that a sturdy bridge connects them. Even though we don’t live in the same state, reaching him is as quick and seamless as a text, a phone call, or even email. Today, with both of us in our 50’s and busy with work, spouses, and in his case children, I feel closer to my brother than I ever have. He is my lifeline to my family.

Then there’s my mother and sister. Oh, how in life tables turn and emotions morph. I always felt so close to my mother and by extension close to my sister. Talking to both of those unapologetically Cuban women used to be a most pleasurable adventure. My mother always had sage advice, many times in the form of Cuban axioms that I still remember today. My sister, although high maintenance, usually impressed me with her sheer survival skills. Hers hasn’t been the most enjoyable life – from two divorces to a slew of health issues. Yet for the most part she managed to thrive and prosper.

My father’s death changed all of that. My mother and my sister now live together, each clinging to the other with a stranglehold so fierce that it is impenetrable. They have created, either by choice or by dire necessity, an insular world where only they are inhabitants. Communicating with them is surely possible, but frequently arduous. Even providing financial help, which I do monthly, is a complicated process.

My mother and sister are both on one island. It sits a good 10 miles from mine and is accessible only by boat or a long, treacherous swim. Some days I hop on the small ship. Most days I find myself just opting to stay put. We slowly grow more distant as time goes by. It saddens me, but I’ve accepted it. Therapy continues to help, as does my willingness to stay positive and to realize that I can’t fix other people. I can only fix myself.

I will always be there for my family. They are in my blood. I love my brother, my mother, and my sister. But I’ve learned that bonds we once thought were unbreakable can certainly crack, maybe even completely tear. Blame it on the complexities of human nature taxed by the passing of time.

People are like islands. Some are close enough for a swim. Some are too far for a yacht.