This summer has found me in a nostalgic mood as I have been sorting and organizing all the family history, photos, and stories that I have gathered these past 49 years. At my age, I realize time is running short and one day this lifetime of work will be a challenge for any of my kids to deal with if I don’t finish off this project.
To add to this, I received a call from a first cousin of mine that I had not seen since I was about 7 years old. She and her husband were traveling East to visit Atlantic City and since I lived close wanted to stop by and visit with me. I was very excited to receive them.
For those first seven years of our life, we were close as first cousins could be because our families lived in the same area. One month older than I am, we were constant playmates, along with her older brother and my two younger brothers. Then her parents separated and divorced and except for a brief meeting at our grandmother’s funeral in 1993, we had not seen each other. I had not heard a lot about her or her life. My younger brother had a bit more contact with these cousins after I left home, but I had none. For me, a life of abuse caused me to be isolated and I kept to myself until the day I left home and started a new life with Pat here in Pennsylvania. For my cousin, life turns out to not have dealt her a good deal at first, but for both of us, life did eventually bless us with love and the ability to create our own loving families.
My cousin, once she was gone with her mother and the life forged anew, was mostly separated from her father’s side of the family. We both spent a life separated physically but as it turns out, not emotionally. For her, memories of a family filled with the craziness made one cautious in wanting to make that initial contact. Lucky for me, that caution did not stop the curiousness about a long-lost cousin.
When she and her husband planned a trip East they decided to give a visit to me, yet, there was a concern that maybe, I was the continuum of what we both knew at those young tender moments of our life. So, with a bit of cautiousness, a brief visit was planned.
For the first couple of hours, it was catch up time. Sharing what life had brought to the both of us, introducing each other to our own families through pictures and stories. And memories of a childhood surrounded by adults behaving badly. Not one of us, cousin or sibling, were left untouched by the pain caused by the behavior of those who surrounded us.
We talked non-stop. My cousin’s husband could only sit and shake his head at the craziness of some of our memories. “Remember the time we both sat huddled under the table in Grandma’s kitchen with beer bottles flying overhead breaking against the wall?” “How about the Santa that gave us french kisses…ewe…” “Remember how badly Donnie was treated?”
The fights…the fear…the drinking that always surrounded every gathering left its mark on our souls. Photo’s shared of times and places hard to recall, but through them showed us how we were connected.
I invited them to let me show them my home area, and by the end of the evening, over a dinner by the Delaware, we spoke of how much we liked each other and sorry that so much time had passed between us. Stories and memories left me a bit ruffled, yet at peace with not only the opportunity for each of us to recognize how fortunate we are that we had the courage to make better choices in our own lives.
“You know what I hate?” I said to my cousin. “I hate the saying ‘the apple does not fall far from the tree.’ Our apple rolled down hill a ways, a bit battered and bruised from the trip, but still good enough to enjoy!”
As we ended our evening together with a hug and a promise that we would see each other again, I was proud of the fact that some of us survived the family craziness and by the example of our lives, teach our own children that you have choices and the most important one you can make is how you choose to live your life.
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