My mom got a letter in the mail the other day. It had my aunt’s return address on it.  She was my dad’s younger sister, my mom’s sister-in-law. My mom opened it, expecting to have a letter from her.  Instead, there was a note inside from one of my cousins. She wrote, “Our lovely mother passed away. It was her wish not to have a memorial.”  There was no return address for either of my cousins.

We lost my dad five years ago, but my mom kept in touch with my aunt. They didn’t talk often, but they shared memories, history, and people that they loved. My mom last spoke with my aunt in September and wished her a happy birthday.

I am glad my cousins let us know about my aunt’s passing, but I wish they would have left a way for us to contact them. It is hard to see any good coming from the death of a loved one, but renewed communication could be one small light.  I lost my aunt. Was there a way to gain my cousins?  I have fond memories of them. My youngest cousin is just a few months older than I am. They grew up in Southern California. My family moved to Northern California when I was 3.  They visited us there, at least once. I remember a trip to the snow.  We saw them every summer, at least until my grandmother passed away. My younger cousin was an expert gymnast and did cartwheels and flips. I could barely do a forward somersault, much less a backwards one. They were very, very cool.

I’m not sure why we didn’t keep in touch better. I think my dad may have alienated their family by sharing the Gospel in a possibly awkward way. He was a devoted Baptist, and I can remember him writing letters that shared his faith and maybe his fear that they might go to hell. Also, I know my aunt and uncle once tricked my parents into attending an Amway presentation.  Nonetheless, over the years my dad and his sister worked through their faith and multi-level marketing differences. They talked on the phone, exchanged birthday cards, and were fond of each other.  When my dad was dying, my aunt was in touch, nearly every day.

Family can be tricky.  I know that sometimes it is healthy and smart to break ties with the people that raised us. I also think, though, that there is something deep there, that blood ties are old ties, and that there is power in connecting with people who knew us when we were small. I would at least like to say hello to my cousins, these strangers who shared my grandma and grandpa, who called my dad uncle.  Maybe mistakes were made, but there is always the hope of forgiveness. Maybe everyone just got busy, wrapped up in jobs and friends and children.  Years have been lost, but there is still time.  I could track down an address, do some searching on Facebook, write a note back to my cousins at my aunt’s old address.  Maybe all it would take is a simple hello.

Today, it is still raining. As a native Californian, I have taken a vow to never complain about rain. I love this state, where drought abounds. I have lived other places: Nevada, Utah, Ohio, but have always returned here. Drawn back somehow. I know that we need this rain.  It is really soggy out, though. Several big branches went down in the backyard. I had time to drag half of them to the burn pile before it started raining again.

The fire is roaring. The rice is cooking. We will eat it soon with Costco’s famous rotisserie chicken. My daughter works on her homework next to me. My son reads the Sunday comics. The dog sleeps on the sofa. The cat says he wants to go out. We annoy him by telling him that it is cold, dark, and wet out there and not a good time for outside play. He reminds us that he should be the judge of this, thank you very much. He is a hefty Maine Coon. “Big kitty!” the vet said at his initial visit.  He is difficult to ignore. Still, inside he stays.

Today was a day for dropping my Mom off at the airport.  She had a tree come down in the storm yesterday, a big oak in the front yard. Thankfully, it fell sideways, away from the house, just grazing the gutters. A different angle would have put it right on top of her.  My Mom has been in that house for 47 years. I grew up with that tree.  I am heartbroken that it is gone.  She had to go to Washington for her little brother’s memorial service. He passed away in his barn from a heart attack on Christmas Eve.

I hate that people I love grow old and die. I hate that trees that I love grow old and die. I hate that climate change is influencing the weather. I hate that one of my wise friends had to sit through a tirade from her sons’ orthodontist the other day about how global warming is a hoax and that the Sierra Club is evil (note to self: renew your Sierra Club membership. Really. This is important). It’s not bad enough to spend $10,000 for braces, I guess. You have to listen to the ranting of the unhinged orthodontist, too. She is good at thinking quickly, though, and has better boundaries than me. Meaning, she just didn’t sit politely and listen and smile as I would tend to do. She said, “You know, I really hope you’re right. I hope that all this is nothing to be worried about. I guess I’m just not that optimistic.”  I am blessed with brilliant friends, no?

Today, God was in the fire and the cooking food. God was in the rain. God was in my phone call with my friend. God was in the drive to the airport with my Mom, who kissed me as she grabbed her roller suitcase at the curb and said, “What can you do? Life goes on.” God was even in the fat cat, who I love, even though he tests my patience with his constant desire to go out. And come in. Go out. Come in.