My deceased first cousin was actually a twin. His family, like mine, had lots of kids. Finding those cousins in the crowd of people gathering before the funeral, my mind said: “Stranger… Stranger… Stranger… Hey–a cousin!” Then, “It’s been so long since we were together. Too long.”

That thought was repeatedly stated: “It’s been too long.” Huddled in a corner with three sisters of the deceased and his twin, we peeled back the years and talked like we used to when we were young. It wasn’t a reminiscent fest; we weren’t chasing after memories. It was more a volleying of our personalities back and forth with updates thrown around, peppered with frankly honest comments about life as we now know it. Being with them comforted them. I know if I lost a sibling, their presence would comfort me.

I learned from them about the quick departure of their brother, who discovered cancer and three months later, was gone. As tough as it was on his sisters, the greater pain was borne by his twin brother who understandably seemed lost without his double. Television screens set up throughout the mortuary played slide shows of the departed cousin. Many of them were dual photos of him and his doppelganger. We never called them by their names; they were “The Twins.” The two of them reveled in their oneness, wearing the same outfits, hairstyles, glasses, even the same sideways smiles. Their own mother struggled to know which one she was talking to. How could we mere cousins have done any better?

His heartbroken parents were there, both in their nineties. His father and my father looked so much like one another in their earlier years that they, too, were often mistaken as twins. My dad passed away 20 years ago. Another loss, another lifetime ago.

That was the theme of the cousins’ conversation: Where did it all go? Where did we all go? In the crowded room we collected more cousins until a group of us bunched together. And then, as it ultimately does, someone asked the painful question, “Why is it that the only time we get together is for weddings and funerals?” One of us pointed out we don’t have that many weddings left, so now it’s just funerals. A dreadfully sad thought.

But then, so what? How is that to change? Could we get together? Would we get together? We wouldn’t have to plan an entire family reunion just to get this group of cousins together, would we? The thought seemed weak at first. Why would we do that? But the more we talked about it, the more serious we became. Someone started collecting phone numbers. If we’re taking down contact info, something’s going to happen, right?

There’s a lot of promise in that idea. There’s something unmistakably powerful about the strength of family, including extended family. It’s difficult to describe but is among the strongest forces on earth. What else would make us want to join up again with people we haven’t seen in decades, but whose time-sculpted faces make us long for beloved ancestors now gone. It takes no effort to recall the comfort and security we felt when we were with each other back then. We felt it again as we were naturally drawn to one another.

They say pain causes change. Today’s gathering, intended to bring comfort, love and support to a family in pain, might yield something more long lasting, more powerful, more binding if we take the opportunity… no, MAKE the opportunity to pull ourselves back into the family we grew up with, the family we could and should now grow old with. Tapping into this most basic group of beloved people with whom we share cherished, binding ancestral traits and beliefs could provide a needed source of strength we’ve all overlooked.

In this strange and sometimes lonely world, there’s a lot of comfort in that thought.