Memories of loved ones.

​My maternal grandparents had nine children that reached adulthood. Of the nine, eight of them had children. Four of them had two children. The other four of them had three or more. 

     I knew all my first cousins and their children.    I knew many of my mom’s cousins. My extended family was around eighty people when my grandparents passed away.

     My dad’s side was small. His sister that passed away when he was in his late teens had two children. His older sister had five children and married a man that had two. His brother never had children. 

     The dynamics of my family changed when my grandparents passed. The big extended family splintered into smaller groups. My mom still talked to her siblings and visits them once in a while, but we don’t get together as a group anymore. 

      I have moments that are locked in my memory that are as clear as the day they happened. These memories are about family I didn’t see often. 

     My cousin, Joe Townsend, passed away earlier this year.  We shared a birthday, and I always think of him around that time. When I think about him, the main thing that bubbles to the surface is a move he called the claw. He would wait until I wasn’t looking his direction, run towards me, grab me, lift me over his head, and hold me up above his head with one hand on my stomach. I finally put on some weight as a teen, and he couldn’t pick me up that way anymore. 

     I saw Joey a lot when I was young. As we grew older, we grew apart. I still wished him a happy birthday every year even though he wasn’t around to hear it, and will continue to do so now that he’s gone. 

     Another cousin on my dad’s side, Lynn Gebhart, passed away when I was fourteen. We didn’t see each much until I was a freshman in high school. My memories of him before that are from holiday visits.  One Easter, Lynn and I met at grandma’s house. His parents were dropping her off, and my mom was picking her up. 

     She lived on sixth street, just half a block from the YMCA. As my aunt Margaret, my mom, and my grandma were talking, my grandma mentioned the dozen or so stray cats that would tear up her trash when she took it to the alley. 

     Lynn motioned me to come outside with him. We were going cat hunting. We stalked this one cat around the yard for half an hour. Lynn would rush the cat, and it would dart away just before he could reach it. I think the cat liked the game and was baiting Lynn to chase it. 

     He never caught the cat, but he smiled and laughed the whole time. His smile and laughter were infectious.

     He was two year’s older than I, and he enjoyed the bigger, older cousin role. My mom and dad went to my aunts house one weekend to visit and I went with them. Lynn came in, saw me on the couch and said don’t get up. 

     I stood up and looked him straight in the eye for the first time. He took of his hat and slapped against his leg. He was just the older cousin at that point.

      My freshman year in high school, he was a teacher’s assistant during the period I had the that teachers class. We became friends over the course of my freshman year. By July of that year he was gone. I still see that smile when I close my eyes. It’s a weird feeling wanting to smile and cry at the same time. 

     I’ve got memories of every relative that are the first one that comes to mind when I think of them. Some of them are good, some bad, some happy, and some are sad. All of them are cherished.