Every family has cracks. Lots of little ones that threaten to break the very foundation we have spent a lifetime building. And each time we cry or fight or yell and push and tell someone we hate them the cracks deepen, and thicken.

I used to think it was only my family. My mom who works herself to death, my father who tries to help but just watches, my sister who radiates drama, my other sister who is pushed around like a hurt puppy, and my brother who is too young to know anything. And me, all I want is peace. Sure, there are good times. We enjoy the day to day leisures, nice house, steady income, close extended family. But the cracks are always there, hiding under the couch, or my sisters face, or behind the tv, or beneath a picture. They won’t go away, ever. But if we really work we just might be able to stop them from ripping us apart.