November 24, 2011 - An apology is in order. It has been well over a month since I've written, but the lack of words is not for want of action. Much has happened in this past six weeks. It has been difficult for me to decide where to begin in this time of sorrow, success, peace and conflict. It is now Thanksgiving Day and, for the first time in a very long time I am taking a moment to try and put some of these things into words. This will be two entries.
My younger cousin Peter passed away the week of the 7th of November. A heart attack, followed by attempts at revival and then, after a brief hospital stay, his passing. Traveling, I was unable to attend the funeral, but his death has been on my mind. A life I had lost touch with, and yet one that formed a part of my youth - encapsulating those years when I first understood both how joy was found in the camaraderie of family, and how cruel children could be with each other.
These memories echo a time that changed me, formed me. When I was growing up, Peter was one of many cousins - sons and daughters of my Mother's Sisters and her Brother - that we distant Alaskans busted out with - 17 cousins of various ages that helped socialize us, in some instances perhaps criminalize us (though not Peter), and in all ways immerse us in the feeling and concept of family. I remember hanging with the cousins before "hanging" was a word used to describe that kind of activity. And in St. Cloud, it was the small Mom and Pop grocery down from my Grandparents that we visited. Ice cream or frozen pops, melting before we got back in the oppressive Minnesota summer heat. We were less close with Peter's family - Sheila, Timmy and Cindy... Sheila, older, mysteriously teenaged running off with my sister Nichelle to things we guessed were "parties" or maybe off behind the house then returning with a hint of smoke.... Timmy, quiet, a loner, already heading down a path that would find him in the military and a distinguished career. Cindy - always in her own world, walking to her drum...
And Peter, as with the others in his family, a bit of a loner, though not by choice. He wanted to do things with his older cousins (us), but his family lived across town, rather than out of town. When they came to visit us at the Grandparents, the visits were shorter, as theirs was a short distance to go, and Uncle Tom always had an early morning wake up for work - and Aunt Barbara was always sure to get her kids home for an early day before bed. But it wasn't just the schedule. We older cousins were haphazard in our treatment of Peter. Alternately accepting and rejecting him in ways that only kids can do and kids can painfully feel.
But Peter survived that ribbing and wronging of youth, and married Nyome and raised four daughters. And like many, he was a metaphor for the working class life of America - struggling to eke out a living, supporting a family, looking for opportunity and missing a few as well.
I'll miss a cousin I could have known better, but now never will.