COUSINS

According to Webster, the number one meaning for the word cousin is the child of one's aunt or uncle. When asked to draw a picture of something beautiful they saw in the campout we were just completing, the littlest of the group drew five stick figures. One of the figures was the dog, and I assume the others were her two sisters and her two cousins. She added this explanation to her picture. "My cousins visitid [sic] me."



She could have selected to draw snow-covered Mount Rainier or forested unknown-name mountains. She could have drawn Tall trees looming over our camp site or nearby rivers or creeks of abundant flowing water. Butterflies or birds or chipmunks or caterpillars might have graced her page of artwork. Looking down on steep canyons as we rode up...up...up to Paradise or having a snowball fight when she was supposed to be eating lunch could have been her artistic choice. Even the swinging, cable bridge was one sister's choice of subject matter.



But this six-year-old grandchild chose the subject that kept me most enthralled with the wonderment of family on this occasion -- watching cousins interact and play and sing and pretend and chatter and make s'mores. I was mindful of my own youth and cousin Jan, many years and miles from this place. There were no trees to speak of and even tap water was scarce in the tiny West Texas town where our family reunion was held. However, as children, we just enjoyed the pleasure of each other's company...feeling the bond of kinship.



Cousin is such an important relationship that even the Bible sets the stage for the coming Messiah when pregnant Mary visits her pregnant cousin Elizabeth. Later, of course, John announced, "Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world!" How befitting it is that Christ's cousin was the herald of such great news.



I delighted in watching five girls interact and romp and spontaneously follow Papa John on his walk. And I wonder to myself, "Will the boychild cousin, due in the near future, change the dynamics of this love shown?"

One of Life's Bigger Lessons

We have just arrived home after two weeks of spending time by Sam's bedside as he battles to regain his life. For more details and photos, visit John's blog.



Anyone who knows I have a brother knows at least one thing about us -- we were not very good at "getting along" as kids. Our sibling battles were frequent, and they grieved Mother.


After Sam was in the hospital for 8 weeks...basically on life support...the time was right for us to travel to be by his side. As I stood beside Sam's bedside in Modesto Memorial ICU for the first time, he took my latex-gloved hand and kissed my fingertips. His lips moved, but they formed no words. Tears came to his eyes (and mine).

The memories of wasted years flood my thoughts. Oh, reader, don't think of us as battling all those years. As adults, we have had two or three really good conversations about why we were always fighting as kids. Because we have not lived near each other, it has just been easy to live our lives with little regard for each other.


This illness has caused me to realize how precious family ties are. Our father died 18 years ago, following Mother's death by one year.


When we were kids, Sam would tease or hit or irritate me. Mother would force him to apologize.

He would say, "I'm sorry...but I don't mean it." Mother would make him say it again. "I'm sorry."


"But I don't mean it." This apology could take what seemed like an eternity.


Mother might even make him hug or kiss his little sister and once again...say the words "I'm sorry."


But as soon as Mother left the room, Sam would add "But I don't mean it." I realize now that she probably left the room to laugh.


After two weeks of "suiting up" to be near Sam, watching him sleep, cheering him on as he lifted his arms for the first time to exercise....as he "sat up" (his nurses pushed the buttons that made his bed into a chair )...as his speech became clearer through his tracheotomy...and many other firsts on his road to recovery, the time came for us to return home.


One last trip to the hospital to say "goodbye."


Again, the tears came..."Sis. I love you....."


And this time I believe he meant it.

Sam, he is

Many of my days' hours are spent watching my only sibling struggle for each breath; nothing is easy for him. Tomorrow will mark the beginning of his 9th week since he has been able to walk, talk, eat, sit up.....etc. I read the following to his wife last night, and we all got a badly needed chuckle.


We had just moved to Dexter, New Mexico. While I was recuperating from a badly sprained ankle, Sammy had the freedom to explore and to meet other kids. About the third day, he came home with a black eye. Mother and Daddy both quizzed him. He did not want to talk about it in front of Mother so he and Daddy took a walk.

The story, as I recall it, came out that he had met some other boys. His description of them was vague, but they were about his age and wore felt hats with pop bottle lids attached somehow and they rode bikes. Apparently Sammy decided to explore around the edge of the cotton field and had ended up almost back at the highway in a shaded area near a church yard when he happened across these boys about his age but much bigger.

Anyway, somehow in the process of getting acquainted, one of the boys called him a :”Son of A Gun.” He put up his dukes and told the boy to take it back. It was not hurtful to him to be called such a name, but He was not going to get by with calling my Mother “a Gun.”