How far is too far, or too close, to live to family? If you ask me, the closer we are the better, as long as we each have our own kitchen to rule. My immediate family—father and mother, brothers and sisters—has never really lived very far from each other, at least not for long. Though we’ve moved around a lot, we’ve lived from as close as 10 easy minutes in driving distance to as far as 5 leg-cramping hours away. And that’s only because we’ve been a family on the move—moving hither and yon, for work and school reasons, and the occasional loss of a job.
My husband is native to New York, Long Island, though both sets of grandparents originated from worlds away: Norway and Germany. Many of his family are still living in New York, Vermont, and Virginia. So they are quite a distance from us. But my dear familia are all settled in sunny California, though my mother came from San Salvador, El Salvador, and I was born in Managua, Nicaragua.
I love family togetherness, and absolutely revel in the idea that I can get in the car and be at my mother’s or either of my sister’s houses in a matter of minutes. And though two of my children have just recently moved (and I’ll have you know I did cry bitter, lonely tears), they are only 45 minutes away. Still, by my standards, not nearly close-enough. Sigh!
There is something to be said for family closeness and unity; there is constant support and spiritual strength. There is ready love within arms-reach. So though I want my children to lead lives of their own and raise their own families, I still want them near.
I want my cake and to eat it too. I want it all!
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