We’ve had some family losses in the last few months. The first of us cousins, and the first of the aunts/uncles, 5 days apart. It was a serious blow to us. At M’s funeral, I watched as the family reunited after years of being apart. We all live in the same small town within minutes of each other but rarely see each other. Maybe my mom is right, we think because we live so close together that we’ll definitely see each other but it never happens. We take for granted our close proximity.
When I was young and we would come up here for vacation, the family would be close while we were here. There would be dinners, picnics, gatherings on the beach, etc. Of course, I couldn’t know what their lives were like once we left and went back to Denver.
But I think we all agree that once Grandma Isabelle passed away in 2011 (on my brother’s 40th birthday) and Grandpa Beans passed in 1981, the anchors of the family were gone. Slowly, we all drifted apart.
What struck me as I watched the interactions of everyone was how alike we were to each other and some to our ancestors. It’s not only in our memories that we keep them alive. It’s also in our mannerisms, speech, physicality and looks.
My uncle H is a spitting image of Grandpa Beans. Even his voice. It catches me sometimes and brings tears to my eyes because I miss Grandpa. But I see him in my uncle and also in his sons.
I see Grandma Isabelle in my aunts and myself. My humor, for sure. My cooking, absolutely. Even my looks. The Chosa genes are strong.
I love that about us.