Unique in our own dysfunction . . .

. . . the more I am welcomed into other people's lives and their families, into other countries and places I thought I would never be, the more I realize every family, every friendship, every workplace and every group is dysfunctional in some way. Because each of us is, in our own way.

So, yes, I'm weird and so are my friends, but I suspect everyone might be also, and that is fine within limits to the weirdness and dysfunctionality.

This weekend, as my sisters (who are braver than me) prepare to join our father's latest and last family and farewell the old bastard in traditional Tongan style. I realize that, yes, we are weird, but all families are. We are a little damaged, but everyone is. Some more than others.

Our first response of hearing of our Da's death was to contact each other, to ask "how are you feeling, are you ok?" Even those of us who don't really understand each other and don't communicate often did that and, for me, the instinct was also to check on the new family. I had consciously avoided them - why would I want to know the replacements in my father's life?

It was one of the current family who informed me, and he was gentle and respectful. My sisters, who know him well, say he is wonderful. I'd like to get to know the family. There's no need for me to be jealous any more - maybe I can just meet these half-siblings and tell stories and learn what we have in common. And what we don't - that's what family is.