It’s been ten days since I blogged. In that time, my close family gathered to celebrate my birthday (I’m partial to birthdays.) and my cousins in Denver buried my beloved Alice, their mother. It’s the sweet and the bitter in equal measure.
My birthday was a wonderful long weekend where the six of us enjoyed eating in and eating out, getting spa appointments, taking walks and taking photos. Two family members took on making a birthday German chocolate cake from scratch; another installed some yard art that is amazing; and yet another bought me the gift I’d requested: a shovel. (More on the shovel tomorrow.)
During the same time Alice was buried next to her husband of 75 years. I don’t know this because my cousins contacted me and wondered if I was coming. Instead, I know it because I went online to read her obituary and learned the important details
I couldn’t have gone to the funeral, since my family was still here. But it would have been thoughtful, from my point of view, for my cousins to inquire. It just confirms my long-held opinion that my relationship with them is probably tenuous at best.
No matter. My relationship with the birthday attendees is not. And I revel in that.
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