Family

by Ben Duckworth and Tida Bradshaw

Ben:

Right now, I reckon there are four different definitions of family existing in my life.

There’s the family I’ve known since the day I was born; the people I grew up with. The people with whom I share a surname.

There’s the family I’ve chosen; my ridiculously wonderful girlfriend and my ever-loving, very daft dog.

There’s the group of people I’m lucky enough to spend my working life with. We speak every day, look after each other, and together try to plot a course through these most extreme of times.

And then there are the others. They don’t fit into any of the previous categories, but I couldn’t exist without them. They help me, inspire me, tell me off (which all of the other three do as well btw) and remind me that a life spent in isolation is one without much value.

I’ve always felt that the words “friends and family” were interchangeable, and therefore kind of unnecessary. Your closest friends become your family, and if your family aren’t also your friends, well… you’re in trouble.

Here’s a thing. Towards the end of 2019, myself and my siblings came to the conclusion that our wonderful mother was no longer able to look after herself, and reluctantly decided to give her a trial period in the home where her own mother spent her final days. It was a tough time for all of us individually, and relationships across the family suffered like never before. But it eventually felt like the right — the only — decision. Fast forward six weeks, and by early February we realised that she was lonely, miserable and lacking the one thing that made her happy in life.

Family.

With no pressure from anyone else, my brother stepped in. With the family’s blessing, he took her up to the Lake District to live with him, his wife and their dog. They’re currently looking for a house to suit all their living needs, to hopefully be moved into when times become safer.

Mum isn’t looking out of the window, waiting for people to visit anymore. She has a precious supply of family on tap, every day. Our weekly Zoom calls are a mere bonus.

As a sobering addition to this, given what we now know about the spread of coronavirus in care homes, I can come to no conclusion other than that my brother has saved my mum’s life.

She’s happy, safe and as healthy as she’s been in years. My gratitude to my brother will never be able to be put into words. I did buy him a massive pork pie on the internet though, so that’s a start.

My heart breaks for those pour souls left in that care home in Bristol, and in homes across the country, across the world. They and their wonderful carers are virtually defenceless. And to their poor, forgotten families that will never get to see them again — I send sympathy, hope and love.

My dad died in a care home, and it destroyed me. The thought of what it would’ve been like eight years later, without the ability to say goodbye and hold his hand as he died, is unthinkable.

Here’s the important bit. Despite the final decisions being made by the five of us, this conclusion couldn’t have been achieved without all my other families, and those of all my brothers and sisters.

During some very tough times, Lucy’s patience and willingness to head to Bristol in times of sudden crisis was a godsend. Molly, for her part, cheered mum up at times when we thought we’d lost her emotionally. The pictures of her sitting on my mum’s knee, the two of them watching the world go by through her front room window, are among my most cherished possessions.

Steve and Stirling’s willingness to look after the business when I was called to Bristol was a huge comfort, and a rock of stability that I’ll never forget. To know that you can concentrate on the things you need to, safe in the knowledge that you’ll return to the business you love and find it exactly how you left it (often improved) — you can’t put a price on that.

And the “others” — the people whom I spoke to for advice and comfort — selflessly and consistently provided me with balance, perspective and endless positivity. Many of them had been through similar experiences, but some just have massive hearts and love to help other people. I will always treasure you.

All of these families are even more important now, in this wildly uncertain period we’re living through. Despite the fact that most of us are unable to physically exist in the same places, the things that bind us together remain. Perhaps strengthen.

I have a sneaking suspicion that there may be a fifth bracket about to reveal itself as we enter a whole new world and way of life. New alliances will be formed; new, critically important families will be created. We have been wronged, lied to, abused by our elected leaders. How long before we are forced to take matters into our own hands, to protect ourselves and those most dear to us? Who will we end up on the front line of this battle with?

Family is everything. Whatever it means to you.

Stay well, and as hopeful as you can.

Tida:

Family relationships are often some of the most difficult relationships we have to navigate in our lives, but also some of the closest and most important. Like with restaurant reviews, I feel bad for family relationships — they get thrust into the spotlight when things are very good or very bad.

At trying times like these, when we feel at our most vulnerable, scared and derailed, oftentimes it is our family who we turn to as our front line of support. It is especially bizarre at the moment, because the spotlight is shining particularly bright on relationships, and whilst for some of us we have never been closer to our families, for others they’ve never felt farther away. Some people have chosen to leave their homes and to stay with their family during this period, and have probably never spent so much time in close proximity. Other people are feeling the physical void between them and their families especially greatly. Some people don’t have any family, others might have chosen to remove themselves from theirs, or are finding time with their family very challenging.

It’s difficult to write about family broadly, because each family dynamic is extraordinarily complex and unique. As the saying goes, ‘you can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family’, and that, in essence, is why they are such strange and special relationships. So, I’ll just write about the family I know best, and that is my own.

I feel very lucky to have such a great family. They a funny bunch but most of all, they are extremely caring, supportive and loving. My Dad met my Mum when he was volunteering with VSO (Volunteering Services Oversees) in Thailand in 1984. They re-located back to England, got married, settled in Southampton and there me and my brother were born. My Dad was born in Quebec, Canada by chance, and the vast majority of my extended family live oversees. My Aunt, cousin and Grandma live on the Wirral, Merseyside and surrounding areas and I very rarely see them, so our family of four are what I would consider ‘my family’.

I think I used to take my family for granted. In my late teens and early twenties, I was quite distant. I was suffering from a small buffet of mental health issues, and instead of reaching out to those that could help and support me the most, I retracted. My parents were extremely understanding. The once-every-6-months phone conversation became their way of knowing I was okay, no news was good news, and they gave me space and time to let me be. And whilst I didn’t talk, I absolutely knew that they were there for me, like a strong, quiet mountain of support.

I quit University for the first time when I was 18, a few months after starting. I’d been accepted onto my first choice course in English Literature and Language at Leeds University and was proud and pleased. My mental health was at an all time low. I was suffering from an eating disorder, insomnia, depression and probably anxiety although I couldn’t really differentiate the nuances of feelings and emotions properly then. It was definitely shit. I couldn’t concentrate on reading or writing and so I took the decision to quit. I am an extremely stubborn and determined person, and it was a really tough call for me to make. I think this was the first time I really opened the door to my family and allowed them to support me. My Dad came up to Leeds, we spoke to support officers, he drove me home. I was actually scared I would be a disappointment, but to my surprise they were proud of me for making a difficult decision that put me and my mental health first.

After going back to University that same year (I told you, I am stubborn and determined) despite not really sorting my head out, I stuck it out for a year and a half before having to quit again. I was gutted. I moved to London with my then boyfriend, not really knowing what I wanted to do and without much of an idea about anything. It was an excellent decision. And my Dad said something to me I’ll always remember: “I never worry about you because you have the confidence to make decisions, and know what path to take, even when they’re really tough”.

In the last few years, we’ve definitely become closer as a family. Me and my brother have always been close, we’re quite similar in a lot of ways. We’re both pretty silly, always making terrible jokes (which is amplified when we’re together, to an almost intolerable degree), but he has a positivity and infectiously sunny nature which is admirable. He’s an incredibly talented musician, a hard worker, and as supportive as he is funny. An all-round good egg.

My Mum and I argued a lot during my teenage years (I realise this is not uncommon of course). I think a clash of upbringings in completely different cultures and boundaries meant we didn’t see eye-to-eye on a number of things. As I’ve got older, I’ve appreciated this, and understand her better. Despite our arguments, I never doubted that she loved me very much — that was, and is, always clear. We always going to be very different people, but we find humour in our differences I think now and are closer than we’ve ever been.

My Dad is one of the most caring, emotional and supportive people I know. He was dealt an utterly shit hand over twenty years ago, when he got diagnosed with M.E., but despite this gives his all to everyone and is a just a genuinely lovely soul.

Facebook, for its many evils, has allowed us to keep in regular, casual contact via a family Messenger group. We can send each other a stupid photo or a quick ‘hello’ without a lengthy phone call and reply in our own time. Especially now that we’re living through a period where most people’s interactions with their friends and family are sadly digital or phone-based, I’ve never been more grateful for the internet and the various apps that connect us. I’m sure for many people this has been a lifesaving link to the outside world, a vital cord and connection to those that we would normally be able to see in the flesh and hold.

This pandemic has made it clear to me that I love and care about my family very much. Not that I ever really thought otherwise, but I’m sure like many, it has brought up mixed strong emotions to the fore. Those feelings of intense worry and concern; whether they’ll get sick or worse, will they be lonely, when will I see them again? But then also warm feelings that they’re there for me, despite the distance and that currently, they’re doing fine. I’m very grateful for both of these things, and feel so very sorry for those that have relatives that are ill, distant or have difficult relationships.

For a lot of people, there are a lot of difficult emotions surrounding family relationships. We’re ‘supposed’ to be close, to feel this strong connection as, after all, they are our blood. But of course this is not always the case. I know of people that have had to return to their family homes during this time, but these houses aren’t necessarily ‘homes’ for them — they don’t evoke the sense of a return to your warm, welcoming place. Not by choice, but by need, I’m sure a lot of people are feeling trapped, uncomfortable, scared. I think this time of crisis has really exposed so many dichotomies and absolute contrasts in people’s positions — that between wealth and poverty, health and illness, love and loneliness, care and abuse.

For all the bad things this pandemic has exposed, I hope that it has revealed to you that you have people that care about you, or indeed who you care about. If this has brought you closer to your family, that’s really wonderful. It may have revealed your friends are your family. In any case, I really hope (this is going to sound sickeningly saccharine, apologies) it reveals that really we’re all humans in the same overarching, universally horrible crisis, and that this brings us closer together somehow as a more united, global family.