Yet another funeral

Nobody close this time.  Just one of thousands (well, dozens) of first cousins my mother knew well, growing up – to whom I somehow never got introduced.  My mother was the youngest of her generation, so although she is only 65, this cousin was almost 80.

I grew up hearing stories of how busy, how active,  how exciting it was to be part of her family.  Everybody in each others’ homes, cottages, shuls, rich-people overnight camps… well, constantly.  Like brothers and sisters, but not quite:  like cousins.

How badly I wanted a family like that.

Instead, we ended up with a few intermittently (dis)interested relatives on each side; a couple of withering, forgotten branches on what I always sensed was a once-mighty family tree.


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