For whatever it's worth, sorry to hear about his passing. Death is almost never a good thing..
But I get where you're coming from. Both of my brothers are stubborn, inconsiderate people. I've always said, it's one thing to be selfish, it's another thing entirely to be inconsiderate. My brothers have never really made an effort to be in my life, so I've made no effort to be in their lives. And I can't really say that I feel their absence that much. It's sort of just a non-issue.
Family is a privilege, not a right. Quite honestly I'd rather surround myself with people I enjoy being around than suffer through having relationships with people I can't stand just because "they're family."
But I get where you're coming from. Both of my brothers are stubborn, inconsiderate people. I've always said, it's one thing to be selfish, it's another thing entirely to be inconsiderate. My brothers have never really made an effort to be in my life, so I've made no effort to be in their lives. And I can't really say that I feel their absence that much. It's sort of just a non-issue.
Family is a privilege, not a right. Quite honestly I'd rather surround myself with people I enjoy being around than suffer through having relationships with people I can't stand just because "they're family."
“Love is the only bow on Life’s dark cloud. It is the morning and the evening star. It shines upon the babe, and sheds its radiance on the quiet tomb. It is the mother of art, inspirer of poet, patriot and philosopher.
It is the air and light of every heart – builder of every home, kindler of every fire on every hearth. It was the first to dream of immortality. It fills the world with melody – for music is the voice of love.
Love is the magician, the enchanter, that changes worthless things to Joy, and makes royal kings and queens of common clay. It is the perfume of that wondrous flower, the heart, and without that sacred passion, that divine swoon, we are less than beasts; but with it, earth is heaven, and we are gods.” - Robert. G. Ingersoll
It is the air and light of every heart – builder of every home, kindler of every fire on every hearth. It was the first to dream of immortality. It fills the world with melody – for music is the voice of love.
Love is the magician, the enchanter, that changes worthless things to Joy, and makes royal kings and queens of common clay. It is the perfume of that wondrous flower, the heart, and without that sacred passion, that divine swoon, we are less than beasts; but with it, earth is heaven, and we are gods.” - Robert. G. Ingersoll
