Dear Cousin Carol
Dear Cousin Carol,
I know exactly what you’re thinking, and I have a pretty good idea what you will have to say about this letter. You’ll have a sparkle in your eye and say something cute and dry like, “Well, better late than never, eh?” That’s just the way you are, Carol, always the funny and good-natured, intelligent optimist.
But especially now I want to articulate exactly what you mean to me as a cousin, from the time I was a little boy and the whole time you knew me and insisted on calling me “Artie,” which I never minded coming from you.
Right now, it would be customary for me to compliment you on all the great things you accomplished in your life, but I find I’m not in the best position to do that. I know in broad strokes that you did many wonderful things, don’t get me wrong. I know you devoted your life to helping and doing good deeds for other people, and that alone is a monumental achievement.
And I know there is a throng of family and friends who love you dearly. Your core attributes of social responsibility, goodwill and loving-kindness are well understood by anyone with whom you connected, and I know you connected deeply with a ton of people who are no doubt thrilled to have the pleasure to know you.
But I’m not that great at recalling details to begin with, and the truth is you were never one to share a lot of specifics about your feats, always preferring to focus on the feats of others, especially your children and grandchildren, other family members and as it happens, me.
The point here is that from my earliest days of knowing you, you were one of the best listeners I ever met. We had many wonderful conversations, and I think one reason I found them so wonderful was because you kept the focus on me, as you did with everyone. You always were so interested, so fascinated in what I was up to. You made it easy and comfortable for me to talk to you, and I felt accepted for exactly who I was, nothing more, nothing less, warts and all.
Often when you would come to town, you would track me down and we would arrange a lunch for the three of us at your mother and my Aunt Jane’s house. I worked close by, and it was easy for me to do, and we would talk and talk and talk. I’d end up blowing off work for the afternoon chatting it up with you two, yakking about politics and family and religion and what you and I shared growing up as preacher’s kids in different but closely related families.
One thing I remember clearly, and this was true of Jane too, is that you were never judgmental in these conversations. I always felt worthy in your presence, just the way I was. You asked great questions that showed sincere interest and a personal warmth that was engaging and allowed me to just let it all hang out. I knew I didn’t need to be guarded or careful about what I said. I knew you wouldn’t be taken aback or offended by anything I brought up, and our conversations were natural, eclectic and up-lifting. I invariably went away thinking, “Geez, we need to do that more often!”
We also shared many aspects of a quirky sense of humor, and I found yours to be especially good-natured, kind and loving to all people, never cynical or sarcastic, even when we talked about gut-wrenching social inequity and the political madness that would drive us both nuts.
I always looked forward to us getting together to catch up. Your presence, without expectations, was a joy for me. It is a joy when a person like you pays a person like me the compliment of being completely present, interested and curious to understand issues and feelings that were deeply meaningful to me.
Your self-effacing humility and grace are personal traits I will need to continue to work hard on, as I have looked up to you as a mentor as long as we have been cousins. I’m feeling quite fortunate to have had that honor, and am reminded of the card you sent us when my Dad died.
Your note read, “Hallelujah, what a life!” Now we can all repeat that exclamation for you boldly and in unison, that’s for sure!
I love you, Cousin Carol.
Artie
