Cousins

T and I attended a very sad family event yesterday. My oldest cousin's daughter, just 51, mother of two teenaged girls, went out for a walk about a week ago,  suddenly collapsed and died. Her memorial service was yesterday, standing room only to an audience of family, friends and coworkers. I only met her once at her wedding, but had seen photos of her family in my cousin's Christmas letters and our exchanged emails of family tidbits through the years.

Once in the 80s I found the poem I have featured in the New Yorker magazine. It resonated so strongly with me that I cut it out and tucked it away. I'm from a small family with only three 1st cousins, now two since my only female cousin passed away in 2016, at 69. The next year my aunt, my dad's only sister died at 96, their dad gone some years before. So now it's just the boys, 74 and 70 from my dad's side of the family. My mother was an only child. When we were children we were close, even separated by states and many miles. I was an only child until I was almost 7 and lived in a neighborhood with very few children. They came to Massachusetts each Thanksgiving holiday and my grandparents would drive me to their home in Connecticut so I could spend my spring school vacations with them. When we were even younger we got together at my grandparent's beach house too. Scarce photos from that time show some of us in our bathing suits happy in the sunshine. I adored being with them.

Yesterday, the onionskin of grief was peeled back yet again, their unbearable, heartbreaking loss dredged up all of our family losses once again. Their parents, my parents, our beloved grandparents, who brought us all together so many times. Inside, we were still those kids who played in our nana and grampa's woods, who swam together in the cold Atlantic surf. Suddenly, on the outside, were were not the personification of the last sentence in that poem by Vern Rutsala.  But, suddenly we are the oldest generation, gray haired, plumper, even a bit frailer, but still close when it really matters, we're family.

For the Record,
This day came in sunny, warm and breezy.

All hands thankful for family ties.

My grandmother Nora was born 126 years ago today. xxx