My cousins can beat up your cousins

My mother’s oldest sister had five kids. They are a loud, rowdy, affectionate family who gives a group hug the same way a St. Bernard accidentally knocks you down when it’s just trying to say hello. And just as you’ve managed to get yourself off the ground, they’ll finish it off with an enthusiastic booty smack and a wholehearted “BOOYAH!”

Last month, I spent a week in Canada with my five cousins, my uncle, my grandmother, my parents and other various members of my family because on November 3rd, my mother’s oldest sister, my aunt, passed away unexpectedly. In the days following, our family did our best to understand that this lovely lady who meant so many different things to so many different people was no longer just on the other side of an email or a phone call. But even as our hearts ached for the daughter, mother, sister and aunt who loved learning so much that she got three bachelors of science, our smiles persisted. Because how could we NOT smile at the memory of her being so engrossed in reading whatever most recently caught her brain’s attention, that we could sing and dance around her in big purple cow costumes and she’d never even notice? We smiled because when she and her sisters were all starting to leave their small French-Canadian town for “big cities” like, you know, WINNIPEG, my aunt was the one who educated her younger sisters on the difference between a friendly man and a sleazy perv. We smiled because she was endearingly straight-forward and because she was the only one who knew how to smooth over the occasional collisions that occur in an extended family that includes more than a couple strong and opinionated personalities. And we smiled because she loved to smile.

My aunt made me feel special from the time she’d send me hand-sewn nightgowns with my name embroidered across the front every year to the time in my twenties when she made me feel really special and yet totally normal during a time when I was especially worried that my not-so-conservative choices would alienate my entire extended family. Of course, it didn’t. And in the last couple of years, her kids have made a particularly conscious effort to embrace me unconditionally So I smiled and cried as I watched my cousins say their final goodbyes to her resting body at the funeral home. Shoulder to shoulder, arms embracing, crying, laughing, whispering memories, jokes and love – a testament of their mother’s sweet, funny, loving spirit.

And for the rest of the week, I wanted to lift and support my loud, rowdy cousins and uncle. But as usual, they gave me more collective love (and smacks) than I felt I could give back in return. Because they don’t know any other way to live. And oh, how I love them – as much as one little, sometimes prissy, not especially loud-voiced, non-booty-smackin’ person can.