RECONNECTING WITH MY LONG-MISSED COUSIN
I have long known I had a cousin Paul who builds pianos in
Europe. I always thought that was so
cool, and have used that fact as a bragging point of interest many times. I knew very little about him other than
this. Our dads, brothers, weren’t close.
Paul grew up in Maryland and Texas,
while I was a Navy brat who moved many times to far reaches of the country. We
saw each other only rarely while growing up, then not since over 30 years ago
at our grandmother Gertrude’s funeral.
Recently I had the opportunity to visit Prague, and my
husband and I met Paul for dinner at an out of the way Tibetan café that no
tourist would ever find: Maly Buddha. It was one of the most memorable and lasting
moments of my two weeks vacation in Europe.
Beginning with walking into this darkened café, its décor
reminiscent of a Star Wars cantina, I saw my cousin from a distance. The family connection through resemblance was
immediate: my first words: “I would recognize you anywhere!” There were hugs, as true and meaningful as if
no time had passed since we last met. From that first moment, I felt a real
connection with his father and my own.
My memories of his father are rare, but fond. He was the “fun uncle.” I told Paul my clearest memory was of how
cool it was that Uncle Jack had a phone in his Thunderbird in the early
1960’s. Both our dads are gone now. My last memory of Jack is his hug when he
attended my father’s funeral at Arlington National Cemetery. I told him it felt like a last hug from Dad.
My dad was the more serious brother. The more accomplished one. But there were issues these men, and their
third brother, Tom, dealt with, dysfunctionally, all their lives. Their children,
my generation, suffered in varying degrees like pond ripples from a dropped
stone.
Dinner, which we allowed him to choose and order for us, was
delicious; the tale of his interesting life journey was more than enough for a
writer to fill a best seller. Childhood
pain, rooted in our mutual ancestry, was referenced more than once. Though he provided few details, it was
palpable. We shared fond memories of our bold, outspoken grandmother, who was
known to drink brandy daily and make off-color jokes. We laughed.
Clearly, he was the cousin who was closest to her in her waning years
near Boston.
As the evening progressed I came to understand why he found
contentment in a workshop far from home.
And, we learned, 50 km from Prague he had traveled to meet us. He proudly showed us pictures of his seven pianos
in progress. Yes, seven! He shared about his wife; a Russian
pianist. How did they meet? When she came to see him about a piano, of
course! “She stayed.”
At the end of our evening, he drove us back to our hotel in
his utility van over bumpy cobblestone Prague streets. As we parted, more meaningful hugs brought me
almost to tears. A life mystery: there was love in this reconnection. We talked
about meeting again on this side of the ocean or that one. I hope it happens.
