Fantasy Family Funeral Tour

“Please just fill in your first name and stick the name tag on your left upper chest. Thanks so much—then I can see it easily when you’re seated.” I probably repeated that sentence thousands of times. I was the seminar leader. I even developed the course myself: PRIDE (People Respecting Individual Diversity Extravaganza). Decades ago—before diversity was a thing—I had insights and practices for being just a bit kinder and gentler to yourself and others. Extravaganza? Why yes, of course. It was NOT a "work" shop.

Part of the daylong experience included a closer look at what your values are. What can’t you live without? Family. That was the answer. Frequently. Repeatedly. Honesty, God, and Love came up a lot too. I’d nod thoughtfully when people said “family,” as if it were obvious. But it never felt obvious to me. I thought maybe I just didn’t “get it.” Or maybe it was something broken in me. Still, I led the exercise with conviction. That’s the funny thing about teaching—you don’t have to have it all figured out. You just have to create space for the truth to emerge.
 
Now, all these years later, I think I finally understand: I never actually rejected “family” as a value—I just confused it with a Disney fantasy. The truth that emerged recently had everything to do with my actual, local, right-in-front-of-me family experience. My father-in-law passed not long ago, and I had a front-row seat to what real, present-day family looks like—his wife, daughters, grandchildren, and friends all orbiting around him with care and presence. No drama. No resentment. Just wine, blankets, connection, love. All that attention and acknowledgment—it was a blessing to witness. And, if I’m being honest, a bit of a gut punch. Because while I watched all that connection unfold around him, part of me was thinking: That’s what people mean when they say “family.”
 
And just like that, I realized something: I hadn’t rejected the value—I’d just been grieving the version of it I thought I was supposed to have. The fantasy family. The someday sisters. The effortless intimacy that never quite showed up. In the past, I would’ve spun out. Played the victim like it was my part-time job. Blamed everyone and their dog. I could’ve milked it for days—weeks—years, even. But I’ve since learned that blaming “the family” doesn’t actually work. It doesn’t get me anywhere new. In plain old business-speak: it’s ineffective. The ROI on that kind of drama is abysmal. So, when that old inclination pops up, I treat it like a spam call: decline, delete, and move on. And truthfully, I didn’t have a lot of tools back then. Emotional intelligence wasn’t modeled. There was no communication—just silence. “No talk, no touch, no eye contact please!” could’ve been our family crest.
 
It reminded me of the often-hesitant women in my PRIDE seminars—sitting in small circles, nervously sharing truths they’d never considered before. Some proudly claimed family as their core value. Others whispered about Friendship, Joy, and other aspirational values they weren’t quite sure they were allowed to want. And I always said: there’s no right answer—only the one that’s real for you. Turns out, that’s the lesson I needed too. Not the value that sounds noble or looks good on paper. Not the one you inherited by default. And definitely not the one you stitched together in your head with a Norman Rockwell background mural and a backup theme song. Just the value that’s real—for you.
 
So, I’ll ditch the fantasy. Let go of the memo on how to act ‘properly’—you know, the one no one ever actually got. Book the ticket. Go see my mom in September. This time, though, I’m doing it differently—not out of duty or guilt or some weird inherited script, but because I finally understand: I get to create what family means for me now. I get to shape the value of “family” with my one primary remaining blood relative—my mom. I don’t have to follow anyone’s definition. I can be intentional, tender, even bold about it. I can show up with care, with curiosity, and with an eye toward the future. I can build something that makes me feel more present, more connected, more free.
 
I had this strange old belief that I needed to include her new husband, like it would be rude not to. But… hello?! Permission granted. I get to have time with just her. I can whisk her away like a Thelma & Louise movie heroine with a convertible and a rockin' playlist.
 
Is it perfect? No. But it’s personal, it’s present, it’s for real—and it’s mine. Turns out, you don’t need a fantasy family. Just a plane ticket, a mom who still answers your calls, the guts to be real, a playlist that doesn’t include childhood trauma, and a well-earned, awake-and-aware gold star in Living My Actual Life—PRIDE-style. Glitter optional.