I spent six hours yesterday sorting through stuff that wasn’t mine.

Learning about old photographs, lockets and locks of hair, all linked to the history of someone else.

And I walked away wondering how much I really mattered.

Because I myself known nothing of my BLOOD. Of the others who share it.

Still, sometimes…and these days in particular…I think I may known more than most about what makes a family. And where to find the one you’ve been given.

And in these moments, I don’t think twice about whether or not the same STUFF passes through our veins.

…It’s just stuff anyways….