Family:  sometimes we don’t appreciate them until we really need them.  And then, we can’t figure out what we did without them.  And if you have never met my family, well, you have certainly missed out on quite the crew.  But they are family.  They are who I feel most at home with, who love me unconditionally, and who I turn to when things turn darkest.  And for that, they deserve some praise all on their own.  Because we are not a perfect family.  Like all families, we’ve been through things.  But every time I look back, I know we have come out on the other side stronger than we were before.  And I cannot imagine going through this with a better, more supportive network.

By chance, my step-mother decided that this year we were going to get professional family pictures done during our family’s annual beach week.  By chance.  She planned it months in advance, to be sure everyone’s schedules could align with the family’s “picture day”.  I have to hand it to Quinyon Deberry of MQSC Digital: he did an amazing job of capturing our family.

After Chris died, I knew I needed to take advantage of this opportunity in a different way.  I knew I would want something taken to remember him, to honor the loss in some way.  So I got this idea from a friend’s sweet gift to me.

For our 10-year wedding anniversary, our friends had a party for me.  To be sure I wasn’t alone, to remember Chris, and to be sure I was surrounded with my “army”.  One of the many things we did was release red balloons in Chris’ honor.  It was a wonderful gesture and a great idea.

So I decided I should do it again, by myself, on the beach, with a single red balloon, and with a professional photographer on-hand to capture the moment.  It seemed to fit.

Now of course there were outtakes.  The wind + balloons + me are not the best combination.

 

But they also turned out like this…

And like this…

And then, this…

But back to my familia.  Now, keep in mind, the picture below is a fraction of my extended family.  In fact, this is just my step-mother’s family.  Every year, we rent a few beach houses at Topsail Beach and spend a week laughing, hanging, and generally pretending we aren’t adults.

 

But my little family… the rock holding me up… the people that are on speed dial over everyone else… are pictured below.  And this is exactly what we’re like, all the time.

Let’s first discuss my parents.  My step-mother, Dee (in the middle, yellow bracelet), might possibly be the greatest gift to motherhood out there.  In fact, on Mother’s Day, this was my post to her.  I cannot speak truer words to this day.

Through this nightmare, this woman has held me, consoled me, fed me, made sure I shower, made sure I eat, filtered my calls, filtered my visitors, managed my social media, cleaned my house, called creditors for me, been my driver, and for many a night, just sat with me. In the army of people surrounding me, this woman has been my General. She may not have birthed me, but I couldn’t ask for a better mother. Love you, Dee Hammond.

Yes, she really is that amazing.  To know her is to love her.

My dad, Roylin (far right), is a testament to raising a strong daughter and supporting her decisions, no matter what.  Because the problem with raising a strong daughter is she is difficult, head-strong, and stubborn.  And it’s tough to get those kinds of daughters to listen to advice.  On the other hand, if you also raise your daughter to be considerate of others, to be leary of any man’s intentions, to weigh both sides of a decision equally, to follow laws but break some rules, and to face every challenge with a good attitude and good manners, you might just do okay.  Through this, my favorite words from my dad include:

“We’re here for you and support you, no matter your decision.”

And then fittingly, in a moment of insanity, as I provided a ludicrous Plan B of, “Well, I guess I could always just find some old, rich guy to marry…”, my dad had the most perfect response a dad could have:

“Katie, why is that even an option?”

Well-played, Dad.  Well-played.  Because that’s not the girl he raised.  And not the girl Chris married.  And not the girl I am.

 

And there are cousins.  Cousins with which the best conversations are sometimes had at 2:00am under a beach house.  This is our cousin, Jillian (middle), and as she said, the sister we never had.

 

And then, there is my sister.  My step-sister, Holly, to be exact.  Her husband, Kenny, and sons, Ethan and Lucas, are pictured in the picture above with our family.  And they are frequently my weekend landlords.  Let me explain.

Before Chris died, my sister and I spoke about once per year:  to plan our beach week shenanigans.  And during beach week, we laughed, hung out, and had a ball together for one fabulous week.  And then we went our separate ways.  There were holidays and such, of course.  But that’s about it.  We were not close when we were young.  We spoke rarely as adults.

But when Chris died, that changed.  She called the next morning and asked what I needed.  My response:  “You.  Here.  Now.”

She slept with me every single night that week.  She consoled me every single day.  She sent away visitors, answered my texts, made sure my glass was always full and a hug was always ready.  And that was the week of her own 10-year anniversary, when she planned to head to New York City for a much anticipated anniversary trip.  I really do owe her back on missing Jimmy Fallon.

But it didn’t end there.  See, after, when the covered dishes dwindled, and the weekends were no longer booked with visitors, she knew I needed an escape.  And she made me come to her house in Leland.  She put me up in her bonus room, fed me, made plans for me, and let me be whoever I needed to be.  And – for the most part – without judgement.

We got to the point where we spoke at least daily, and texted throughout the day.  To my shame, I hardly do that with my parents.  But at one point recently, when Holly left for a 4-day cruise, and I realized I wouldn’t be able to speak to her for that entire length of time, I actually had a little panic attack.  What was I going to do?  Who was I going to call?  Because that’s how often we chat now.  Decisions are bounced off of her.  Ludicrous happenings are shared with her first.   Moments when I need to be weak…she is my first call and first responder.

We are closer as step-sisters than many are to their blood siblings.  When we’re together, we are loud, obnoxious, and sometimes too much for people.  How in the world her husband is patient enough to keep letting me in the door is beyond me.

But mostly, we are laughing, enjoying life, and enjoying each other, just like the picture below.  Somehow, although we are quite different, we get each other.  In fact, one day she asked what was wrong.  And here was my cryptic response:

“Have you ever walked in the kitchen, and the stove is on fire?  And there’s dishes piled in the sink?  And there’s something sticky on the floor?  And the fridge is over-flowing with moldy leftovers?  And the smoke alarm is going off?  And there’s something leaking from somewhere?  That’s what’s happening right now.  In my head.”

Now, most people, given that response, would probably be lost immediately.  And maybe change the subject.  And drive me straight to a therapist.  Not Holly.  Like only a big sister could, she started with the stove and said, “Alright, so what does the stove represent?”

THAT is getting someone.  THAT is being a sister.  THAT is a bond that cannot be broken.

I know sometimes people have a tough time understanding blended families.  That’s fair.  Blood is blood, right?  Wrong.  Blood is who you make it.  Blood are the people that stand by you through it all, who love you unconditionally through it all, who are willing to look you dead in the eye and say, “Katie, you are headstrong and I won’t stand in your way.  But you are grieving and not thinking and you won’t like how this turns out.  And I’ll be here for you to love you after, no matter what.”  Who hold you up when you can’t hold yourself up, who let you crash on a couch, who show up at your house because, “[They] don’t care what you say.  You’re not going to do this alone.”

And the good stuff – the stuff that is now stronger – is family.