A proper family

So here I am sitting by the window, typing. The early morning traffic is picking up outside, it’s cool but there’s a hint of sunshine. My throat feels sore, and yesterday I felt rough, but I know what’s caused it all: tension. This week, I had two meetings looming up, and I was anxious about both of them. But in the event, they both turned out well.
First, my wife and I went to see some relatives of my dad. He died about a year ago, and these relatives were treated badly by my mum at the funeral. I wasn’t sure what sort of reception we were going to get, but these relatives couldn’t have been kinder. They were grieving, too, they wanted to build bridges, and they couldn’t understand what they’d done. The truth is, they hadn’t done anything; my mum had taken against them arbitrarily, and for years. To her, they couldn’t do anything right.
Actually, this meeting went better than alright. It was relaxed, fun, life-affirming. They cooked us a lovely meal, and we talked for hours. They had loads of memories of my dad, things he’d never told me. We came away feeling less isolated.
These relatives had a close family, a proper family; and it struck me, as it always does when I see close families together (my wife's, for instance) how bloody weird my own family is. I truly do feel like Roderick Usher, sometimes. I wish, now, that my wife and I had had children, but I can understand my reasons why we didn't: I didn't want to pass on the curse. My dad, God bless him, did his best to keep it all together. Ultimately, though, he was married to a woman who didn't love him.
Secondly, came a meeting with our solicitor. My wife and I are engaged in a long, drawn-out and painful matter which is eating into our finances. As it turned out, there was good news; but until the meeting was over, I couldn't relax. I wanted to get it over with. In fact, I didn't want to go at all; I wanted us to go to the cinema and watch Man Of Steel. But it's over now; and actually, the future looks a little rosier.