But for the Blood

There is an irreconcilable difference between what I watched and what I lived. Between what I watch and what I live. Perhaps this is the problem. Or the answer. The one that comes through the phone line. Or through the tone dead e-mail. Or her voice when she asks, but doesn't ask. The earnestness in his voice, but not the desire to know that what is can't be.

In four hours I must have heard something along the lines of "family is everything" enough times to believe that this is so. This religion, my religion says that family is everything. Into the pores, oozing out, family. Family. "Families can be together forever. Through heavenly Father's plan. I always want to be with my own family. And the lord has shown me how I can. The lord has shown me how I can."

I've been passed along another message, a different one. And it says that families aren't everything, or maybe only sometimes. Perhaps I should write a song about it. Or at least a sentence fragment. Something that says there are other things that are important, more important. Like appearances. And papers. And books. And hair. And skin. And denial. And who. And where. And how much.

He is out in the world. And I am out in the world. And they are out in the world. And there is pain. The pain of knowing that this is how it is. And this is how it will be. There will always be family. In birth and in death we will be. Not together. But apart but for the blood. The blood isn't separate. And it will never be.