All in the family

My whole life I thought my family was stunting my development.
I remember as a kid I used to get so mad at them, their idiosyncrasies used to wear on my nerves like a dripping faucet.
But time has since mellowed those feelings--even adding a little dash of nostalgia into the mix of emotions. Now--when life has drained me with its constant barrage of bills and mind-numbing routines--my family serves as my oasis; they are the one constant in a world of unpleasant change.
And for that I feel saddened. Not because they are the same, but because I am different. I used to be so full of youthful bravado, that sense that I was going to deliver a swift kick to the balls of the Outside World. Yet, I am the one with bruised pant plums and my family--that I once detested--is the one welcoming me back with unconditional love. They don't mention of all those birthdays I missed and phone calls that I didn't place, they only seem to be glad that I came around when I did.
A lot has changed in my family since I stopped living at home, a generation has almost been erased and a new one has taken its place, filling it with innocent notions of how things work and a constant barrage of questions. And us survivors are pushing on: trying to fill the kids in on how great those people were they will never meet, and quietly tending to our own hearts that break a little whenever we talk about them.
But now we are all beginning to realize that we're in it together. And I can't believe that I hated that idea for so long.