Recently my uncle–the last surviving sibling of my long-gone father–passed away. We of the next generation wondered who would pick up the practice of family reunions. My siblings solved that simply. We added a “Cousin Reunion” to the backside of our own family reunion, inviting cousins for cake and ice cream and as much chatting as anyone wanted. Joyfully, more than half of our cousins showed up–to eat cake and ice cream, but mostly to talk. And talk and talk and talk.

It was haunting to look at their faces. They have all grown so old. WE have all grown so old. But as they came through the door, one by one, a long glance turned into a happy shock of recognition, followed by setting down whatever was in my hand to go hug and greet them.

Strong cords bind cousins. Our memories bind us. Our need to be bound binds us. We want someone to remember the same stories we do. We want confirmation that what we recall in detail really did happen. We want someone to acknowledge we’ve come from good, hearty, honest, integral people, and we should emulate that. We want someone to appreciate the uniqueness of our family line and celebrate it with us.

Cousins are a second “familiar family.” They share childhood memories no one else does or can. And because we are family, we are forever. Not a single friend from my childhood survived the growing up and growing apart that happens when we age from children to adults. But these cousins, they are forever friends, both in presence and reminiscence.

We recall singular memories that mean nothing to anyone else: Grandma’s cookie drawer, filled with homemade raisin cookies, always available. How dark the back bedroom was when the old lamp on the ancient bedside table was turned off. Reasons why the potato cellar was also called the dungeon, the tire swing on the old elm in the back yard was a favorite, and the decrepit outhouse was terrifying. We laugh again at the memory of Grandpa slipping watermelon seeds down our backs. We fondly recall the unique almond/cherry scent of Grandma’s hand lotion.

And the Christmas parties… We never get together without bringing up the annual Saturday evening at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, complete with food stacked high on the kitchen table, plates in our laps, and myriad grandchildren underfoot everywhere. We know this because we were those grandchildren.

Now, as adults, our exclamations always include, “But how….?” Because as adults, we cannot figure out how more than 40 people crowded into that tiny bungalow of a home. The old photos show us all, in our strangely young faces, squashed around the fragrant Christmas tree, siblings stacked in our laps to squeeze into the photo taken just before our alert ears picked up the sound of jingle bells and Santa came bursting through the front door bearing gifts for us all.

Our elders worked miracles for us in so many ways. Now we’re those elders with expectant children and grandchildren for whom we try to carry that same torch. The assignment feels heavy and we wonder how we can fill the shoes of that remarkable generation. But here we are, trying. Because now we are that generation, and our youngsters deserve to cherish in the future the memories we create for them today.

As the evening draws to a close we cousins part company with a date firmly set for a December Christmas party. The cousins have made the leap to the next generation’s gathering. The reunions will continue.

Our ancestors would be proud.