Firefly Family Members

At one point in my history, my family assigned me to a bedroom in the rear of an old farm house, a space with a walk-in closet with a window facing the rear of the yard and barn. I took my typing table, manual typewriter, and standing lamp inside the closet with me to be my office. Each summer night, my writing was inspired by a dance of fireflies outside my window. Like ideas, they flashed and went dark. I’ve never had a better office.

People spend a lot of time talking about families and how wonderful they are. At the Paris Olympics, television viewers had a chance to watch competitors being cheered—sometimes by large collections of family. We heard the stories of sacrifices the family made to enable the rise of a dedicated athlete. We watched the cheers and tears and thought of the talented athletes who never received enough backing to reach potential. We wondered what they were thinking as they watched those who triumphed. Unfulfilled potential can be a bitter, heavy burden.

Much of the sentimental talk about families is myth because many never know a supportive, loving family. They may have been judged and found wanting or simply rejected without reason. Even those who do have family at one point may lose close touch because of distance, personalities, or circumstances. Texts are poor substitutes for hugs. They’re limited by the writer’s ability to express honest feelings in letters and spaces, if the person is inclined to do so in the first place. No wonder loneliness has reached epidemic proportions. Being joined by blood doesn’t guarantee empathy or communication. Sadly, often distance is prudent because some have been and continue to be badly neglected or abused by the very relatives who were charged with caring. And then what? What if we don’t have good friends on hand to fill the void?

Those of us who’ve never had or lost ties with close blood relatives can be rescued by what I call firefly family members. When life takes us into dark shadows where the heavy crush of challenges feels discouraging, someone steps forward to help. Like a firefly, this person brings light, cheer, and hope without personal gain. If you think back, you’ve been treated to firefly family members. They appear just when you need a hand, and then they’re gone. Some of the lifelines that have been most needed in my life have been thrown by people who were temporary and sometimes barely connected to me. But they were essential. There was the attorney who shuttled our newly reunited family through an unfamiliar city so we could make a flight home, the neighbor who pulled my husband out of hip-deep mud from a faulty pump, the coworker who loaned us his cabin when we needed a cheap getaway, and locals who brought us hay to tide our horses through their first winter in a new home. And there were even quicker firefly flashes, too, such as the woman who returned a lost wallet and the passer-by who saved our horse from being cast in our fence.

I’ve been mocked for encouraging people to be willing to be firefly family to a stranger. Some want to think they can live as islands bound only to those who agree with them, but they’re wrong. We’re charged with noticing that, like the fireflies outside my closet window, we need to flash brightly on occasion for someone else, caring without condition. The people who scorned me didn’t notice all the thankless favors they had accepted over the years. They felt entitled, but there’s something deformed about taking without giving, and that kind of sickness deadens joy. What a lovely evening we create when we all flash as needed against the dark.