We are family.
– Sister Sledge
I write this as I sit at a kitchen table in Connecticut. My cousins (second cousins) sit around me discussing their college experiences and their lives outside of college.
We range from 19 to 31.
We rarely see one another.
They don’t know the ins and outs of my life and I am admittedly unaware of the details of their lives.
Still, we share more distinct genetic markers than those I pass on my walk to school each day.
Knowing that signals a comfort in my brain.
Today, three of us sat silently in the living room reading. We just finished an excellent meal of fettucine alfredo and salad and crusty bread.
Our closest common relative was my great-grandmother who passed away in 1999.
Still, we are family, and we are broke bread, and I love them.
Just now, the photo album from my great-grandmother’s 95th birthday party has come out and we are remarking on the haircuts of our adolescence.
Living at least 700 miles from where I was born for the majority of my adulthood has meant I’ve been away from most of my family.
These moments, these times of sharing meals and memories, are fewer and further between than I’d like.
Tomorrow I’ll travel home and return to my daily existence. Still, I’ll have anchors like tonight and my summer and Christmas trips back to Illinois to remind me who I am and where I come from.