I Touched a Mexican Wrestler

Ha, ha.
I knew that would get your attention.
I did fist bump with a man dressed as a Mexican wrestler while in San Antonio, but that really doesn't have anything to do with this post, which is all about family.

After all the waiting, anticipating and planning, the Stith-Sheets-Steele Cousin Union has come and gone. The next time we get together, it will officially be a re-union.

Although not everyone who said they'd be making the pilgrimage actually made it, and although some just couldn't make it this time, I know I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I'm very thankful for the opportunity to have spent that week with my brother, sister, cousins and families. In particular, my brother, sister and I are closer than ever.

Our parents were siblings, born between 1904 and 1920, and raised in Southern Illinois. Their father (my grandfather) died in 1928, leaving their mother (my grandmother) with six children to feed, clothe, educate and raise as upstanding citizens. She did an incredible job, as all six of them grew into adulthood with good family values, impeccable work ethics, respect for others and a love for the Almighty.

When they were all grown and married, they grew apart physically; living in California, New Mexico, Illinois and Florida. But their love and support for one another never, ever wavered. The brothers lived in California and New Mexico and saw each other often. The sisters lived in Illinois and Florida and saw each other every summer. And when it came to their brothers, they were in lock-step to defend them.

It's that closeness that also confuses us.
They held a reunion in 1971 in New Mexico and then again in 1978 in Southern Illinois, but as far as any of us can recall, those are the only two times they were together after moving from Southern Illinois.
Why didn't they all get together more often?

We surmise it's simply a matter of logistics. "Back then" (or as my husband and I like to say, "Back in the days of yore"), air travel was quite costly and mainly limited to the elite, it was definitely too far to drive, and long distance phone calls were exorbitant. Plus they were all busy raising their own families. That left letter writing.

It doesn't explain why one of the cousins didn't know anything at all about the aunts or their children. And that's one of many questions that will remain unanswered, as our windows to our pasts have closed.

I thought there would be a lot of time spent reminiscing and chatting about our parents. I thought I needed that. But, instead, we spent time together - getting to know each other, showing photos of our families and talking about our children and grandchildren. It turns out, that's what I needed.

I didn't need to hear others telling stories about Daddy and Mom in order to feel closer to them; I needed to get to know my extended family.

One of us was worried that we'd sit around like old people and just talk. Well, that didn't happen. We strolled the River Walk, dined at restaurants, hiked caverns, drove through a safari, visited a local winery and more.

 

 

One cousin had family T-shirts made for each of us, one gave everyone a copy of an extensive history of the ancestry, one gave each of us a copy of the family crest, and one gave everyone a copy of a family tree drawn by an artist friend. It was a lot to take in.

 

On our final night together, we lit Japanese lanterns and released them into the night sky in memory or our family members who have passed.
Moving.
It was beautiful.

All in all, it was a great week, with laughter filling the spaces. Plans are now underway for us to do it all, again - in two years. We'll be heading to California, so those of you reading this who are part of the Stith/Sheets/Steele ancestry, keep an eye out for details.



I love you, Mom and Dad. I don't even need to say that I wish you had been there, because I know you were.