I had this thought, as I was considering Easter Bunny Day, and how I wanted (or didn’t want) to celebrate it. I asked my guy if he had plans with his family on Sunday… I just can’t remember the specifics of Easter last year. At that point our relationship was just six months old, and since this is not a significant holiday for me, I really have no point of reference for his traditions (or lack of). As the words were put out into cyberspace, as it was a text conversation, a funny thing happened.
“Sunday is Easter,” I said. “I wasn’t sure if you had plans with your family.”
And there it was. An immediate realization.
He is my family.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, he’s my boyfriend, my special man-friend, my lover, my beloved, my guy, my best friend, my important person, and my favorite everything. And somehow, though I view a select few in my extended poly network as “family-esque”, including Metamour, who is married to this man who may be my first great love, I hadn’t ever fully submerged myself in the concept that he IS my family, and he isn’t going anywhere. Just as I don’t live in constant fear that my children will suddenly no longer be my children, I’ve finally surrendered to the basic tenet of polyamory, which at the end of the day, simply comes down to love. Absolute, unwavering, unconditional love. The kind you have for family. The kind that doesn’t go away simply because you are not in close proximity every day. The kind of love that you do not question, but simply know, without having to think about it.
This man is family. My family.