Being understood

***I don’t know where this one was going, but it sure sounds like it was about to be a doozey!  Drafted Oct. 16 – about 20 minutes before I went for that run. . . I had no idea that I’d have another really great story to add to my list of jaw-droppers within in the hour.  Ha!***

I spent a lot of my life thinking my family was normal. . . that all families have constant drama worthy of soap operas and trashy novels.  The older I got, and the further away from my family that I got, the more I started to realize that we’re not normal.  In fact, we’re crazy.  A lot of people, dare I say, most people, have lived much more calm, uneventful lives. 

As such, a lot of people have a hard time really understanding some of the stories I tell.  Like. . . they undestand what I’m saying, but they don’t understand what it means to live it.  They stare at me in horror, trying to comprehend how someone could refuse to tell me that my grandpa was dying and effectively take from me a last chance to see him. . . or trying to imagine having to throw their sister under the bus to save her children.