From the airport pickups, to the airport drop-offs, and the tapping of the Guinness keg in between- they’re there. This past weekend with my cousins in Minnesota was nothing short of the ‘norm.’ I think there is sacredness in the love of a cousin. It’s an understanding that we came from the same grandparents' undying love (thank you G&G), were raised almost identically, and cared for by the same fanatical family members. It’s a relationship that allows for anger at times, but is always forgiven. It’s teaming up and rebelling at similar ages in our lives and being able to discuss what our different punishable outcomes were. During the hardest moment imaginable when we lost one of our own… it’s in each other we found the most comfort. How blessed I am to be able to say that I’ve experienced the love of a cousin when many people are unable. I’m better for knowing them, more unified with them at my side, and reassured by the strong belief that one of them is patiently waiting to welcome me with open arms when my day comes. There is no greater comfort than that.
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