Corona With The Cousins

At the Pregnancy Clinics Fundraiser, Sarasota

Less than two months ago I had heard very little about a novel coronavirus from a place over 7,000 miles away, as the crow flies.  We got rid of network TV years ago, so I get my news online, and only when I have the time and emotional fortitude to endure it.

Paul took a flight to Florida nine days before I headed south in our SUV.  He was involved in some music events at the end of February and I was still up to my neck in work, trying to get things ready for a six-week absence.  Besides, he prefers flying and I like traveling in a vehicle that allows me to open windows when I want.  The airlines frown on that, it seems.

When I booked Paul’s flight I was thrilled to find a one-way ticket for less than a hundred dollars.  A mere six weeks later the price was $28.00.  During prime spring break season, no less.  Who could have imagined that people eating bats in Wuhan, China could send the cost of air travel from Cleveland to Sarasota plummeting?

When I pulled into our vacation rental I was tired but anticipating a six-week sabbatical filled with fun times with friends and family, eating in our favorite restaurants, playing competitive card games, spending Sunday mornings at our Florida church, and of course reading books for  hours on the beach.  The first week that’s how it went. 

Three days after I arrived I joined five of my cousins for a fundraising dinner supporting the Sarasota Community Pregnancy Clinics, something I had the privilege of attending during a previous stay.  Cousin Dan volunteers regularly at the clinics and Paul has helped a few times with small building projects. It was an inspiring evening hearing an obstetrician share his journey from performing over a thousand abortions to becoming a health care provider who recognizes that the unborn are alive and need protection.  He choked up when he told us about the death of his daughter over thirty years ago and how this tragedy began to open his eyes to the value of every living person.

I looked around the table I shared with my beloved cousins, our small group representing vastly different areas of the country.  Three from still-frigid Ohio, one from balmy Florida, and one from an Island off the coast of Washington state, all the way across the country.  I drank in the moment, treasuring what was sure to be a rare thing, the six of us together enjoying a fabulous meal, catching up on life events, and uniting in a cause we all care deeply about.

I have well over a hundred cousins, some of them I’ve never met.  Most of my father’s family is still a very conservative sect of Amish.  So when my parents left the church they lost touch with most of the family from that side of the tree.  My father was the youngest in his family, born six years after his last sibling.  I am the youngest in my family, also born six years after my youngest brother and over twenty years after my oldest one.  To this day, I only know one cousin from the paternal side of the family.  Knowing Cousin Ezra and his family, I feel certain I have missed out by not knowing them all!  Unfortunately, many of them died of old age before I realized they even existed.

The cousins I hang out with the most and whenever possible are from my mother’s side.  Unlike my father she was one of the oldest of her siblings.  Even so, with me being so far behind all my brothers and sisters (eleven of us), I wasn’t friends with my cousins growing up.  I was that annoying little kid that got in everyone’s way, especially among my siblings, so while I knew my cousins, I didn’t spend much time with them.  Except for one or two I rarely saw, they were friends of my older siblings. Fortunately, when one reaches adulthood, a few years younger or older is meaningless and I’ve found friendships in my family tree that I value as among the biggest blessings in my life.

Cousins at Wade and Barbara's

That evening, sitting around that table, none of us suspected what was coming.  And a few days later, we met again at a local restaurant, joined by Paul and three more family members who live in Sarasota year round.  There were ten of us sitting around a large table, surrounded by other diners on all sides.  We filled up at the salad bar, returning for hot food at the steaming warmers, heaped with chicken, fish, roast beef, mashed potatoes and vegetables in wide variety. Standing in line to fill our plates, we were close enough to the many other patrons to brush up against each other, something that might never feel safe again. Finishing with ice-cream at yet another food station, we left for the home of one of my Florida cousins for more visiting and a heated game of cards.  Yes, our card games get pretty hot.  Any game involving Paul usually leads to yelling and a constant review of the rules.  It usually ends up with all of us against him. If he notices he doesn’t seem to mind.

We had no idea that a short week later we would be wondering if Kay’s flight to Arizona to visit her daughter, or Lydia’s and Esther’s flights back to Ohio would still be available.  We did not imagine that the restaurant we were in would change from filled and bustling to empty and silent, preparing food for take-out only.  We hadn’t heard the term social distancing used in every other sentence nor imagined that our evening’s activities would soon be frowned upon and then prohibited.  When we hugged each other hello and goodbye, we didn’t dream that soon we would be conditioned to believe we were threatening someone’s life by such a simple, normal, automatic, interaction. We were a group of ten, maxed out in the brave new world in which we found ourselves a few short days later.

My take-away today is a familiar cliché (and I don’t like clichés but sometimes they are the only thing that fits): don’t take for granted a single minute with the people you love.  I’ve heard this said many times but it never really registered.  When contemplating making every minute count I was thinking in case someone had an accident on their way home or some other such personal and unlikely tragedy.   The whole world coming to a screeching halt was only something that happened in the movies and not something I thought possible in real life.

Now, sitting here in quarantine, I am so thankful for those moments together.  I believe we will see each other again, if not on this planet, then certainly somewhere better.  But remembering those evenings a few weeks ago, well, it gives me more than the warm fuzzies, although I feel those too.  Yes, it gives me much more than that; it clarifies what’s important to me.  It’s not toilet paper or eating out or winning at cards. And these irreplaceable memories are the fuel that keeps me from putting other people at risk because I’m frustrated or impatient.

Philippians 1:3 I thank my God every time I remember you.