Extended family has always meant everything to me. When my family moved to California it was the loss of my aunts, uncles and cousins that made the transition difficult for me. When my father died my relatives were the foundation of the stability that insured me that my little family was going to be okay. My mother made certain that we got a weekly dose of time with our grandparents and the Ulrich clan which included dozens of cousins who were about the same ages as my brothers and I were. I instinctively understood the importance of those people in the course of our new life without a father.

When a schoolmate asked what I would do if my mother died I did not hesitate with an answer. There would be no orphanage or foster home for me and my brothers. I was certain that one of my aunts or uncles would take us. In fact I supported my belief with concrete proof by noting that my Aunt Valeria had an extra bed in her dining room that I knew had to be there just in case I ever needed a home. The connections that I feel with my extended family continue to this very day. There is little in life than I deem more important than the people who are more than just names on my family tree. 

All of my grandparents and aunts and uncles are gone and I still miss them even with all of their quirks and imperfections. They were loving people who never let me and my brothers down. They were loud at times which I suppose came from trying to be heard in a family of ten. They had to learn how to assert themselves early in life. They all served the country, worked hard and raised good children. In many ways they represented the American dream that my immigrant grandfather urged them to cherish. 

In the first years of my adult life my cousins and I remained very close, even as we married and brought new people into the family. Over time our work, children, and moves across the country made our relationships more complex. We would be lucky to see one another once a year, but when that happened we talked as though it had only been a day or so since our last meeting. That shared closeness has remained unbroken, but now even the cousins are beginning to die or become seriously ill. Our numbers are diminishing and our children do not realize what we have always meant to each other. 

Somehow we have allowed time and responsibilities to overtake our lives. We mostly see each other at funerals now. We promise on such occasions that we will do better, but a year passes and we realize that nobody has taken the initiative to create a gathering. Even when someone does it is almost impossible to find a date when everyone is able to attend. As our individual families have grown the youngest feel shy and uncertain around people that they have rarely seen. The bonds that made us so secure in the past are fraying with the passage of time. 

I suppose that this is what often happens as the generations progress. There are simply too many new people who do not share our familial memories. They cannot possibly understand the glory days of our youth when meeting at our grandmother’s house on Friday nights was the highlight of the week. They cannot remember the eight original siblings who comprised the elders of the family. They are confounded by stories of a smoke filled room with the adults playing a raucous game of poker while we kids roamed outside with total freedom. The joy of those times is inexplicable to anyone but those who experienced it. 

For a young girl without a father my extended family was an anchor in a safe harbor. There was no storm so strong that I would lose the faith that aunts and uncles and cousins would always rally around me. I loved and still love my cousins like they were my brothers and sisters. I can’t think of a single time when they have let me down. 

Last year was tough. I lost my brilliant cousin, Delbert, who quoted long passages from his favorite books and collected art to enhance his home. He had Parkinson’s disease which eventually stole his vigor and his abilities to take care of himself. I miss him and his intellect, but is mostly his example of living life to the fullest that I long to vicariously enjoy once again. His adventures were legendary and he spoke of them with such detail, humility and gratitude. 

My sweet cousin, Paul, also died. If ever there was a saintly human being, it was Paul. I suppose he came by his nature from watching his father, my Uncle William. Both men personified all that is good in the world. Paul was quiet, funny and kind. He was devoted to the people with whom he worked and to his family. He enjoyed walking for miles each day and watching his beloved Houston Cougars play basketball. I never met anyone who had a bad thing to say about Paul. He was a truly beautiful soul who was taken so quickly from us with dementia that we hardly had time to adjust to the reality of what was happening. 

At the moment I mostly “see” my cousins on Facebook or hear from them in a text or a brief phone call. We are all growing older and doing our best to squeeze as much joy of each day as possible. I’d love to have a gathering of all of us for at least one more time but we are living in far flung places that make creating such an event rather difficult. Sadly it will probably be another funeral that brings us together. Nonetheless, I cling to the memories of old and treasure the joy that we all experience together when we were young. Family a link to both the past and the future. I have been lucky enough to have experienced the best.