During the early part of the 20th Century, our grandparents succeeded in keeping our family “close”, despite the greater part of the family being in Massachussets and another part being 1,600 miles away in Cuba. Many years later, I remember having our parents’ cousins visiting us in Miami or we visiting them in Stockbridge, and, later in life, visits in Georgia. At the time I did not think anything of it — taking it for granted.
Our generation — our parents’ children — also stayed close to one another. Annual visits to Miami were taken for granted — at least by me. And as the years went by we stayed close for the most part. I cannot speak for others but as for me my cousins were my brothers and sisters. Year after year we visited, lived in one another’s houses, fought, or simply rejoiced in happy company.
When death visited us, we took it hard. But not one of us was surprised by that reaction. We grew up in a time when saying “I love you” to siblings or cousins wasn’t “a thing”. But we knew we loved one another; later in life, we actually did begin saying so.
My last conversation with cousin Vivian was one such time. On the phone, 1,500 miles away, I told her that I loved her and she, with what very little strength she had left, said the same.
Vivian’s speech was low key and soothing. She came across as perennially unperturbed, because she always knew and trusted in the Lord that all would turn out well, no matter what the crisis.
In supreme pain, during my mother’s final illness, Vivian visited her if not daily, certainly multiple times a week. Her focus was on Mami, not her own debilitating and painful cancer.
She finally succumbed to that cancer on February 22, 2025, age 69; just one day shy of her and her husband, Rick’s, 50th wedding anniversary. Although we knew the day was close, death is still a slap in the face.
And will continue to be so until that Day of the “manifestation of the sons of God”, as St. Paul puts it, referring to the Day of Resurrection; a Day Vivian believed in with all her heart, having known her Lord and trusting in Him, to the very end.
Vivian had two siblings: Cousin Louis (Papito) who passed away in December, 2022, and Cousin Janis. Janis and her loving husband Pete are both battling cancer and I earnestly pray and hope their treatments are fully successful.
In December, 1972, the family met in Miami, Florida, to participate in and celebrate the wedding of Cousin Sarita, Uncle Max and Tía Carmencita’s eldest daughter. We took a photo on that occasion and 34 years later, at a family reunion, we saw that most of us were still here. That is no longer the case, unfortunately.
At Vivian’s burial, and the meal afterwards, two members of the “next” generation spoke about arranging periodic family reunions. I told them I was all for it, but they would have to take the lead on that. My generation — this is my personal opinion — did not do as good a job as our grandparents and parents in keeping the family close. I know I did not and I regret it. Maybe these two young ladies will pick up the slack that we’ve left them.
I hope they do.
Rest in peace, dear Cousin Vivian.
Photo taken the day before Papito’s memorial service, February, 2023. From left to right: Janis, Pete, Vivian, and myself.
September, 2023, shortly before my mother’s passing. Vivan is to the right: standing, solid peach blouse
December, 1972. Thirteen (13) are now gone. But we trust to see them again.