First Cousins

Cousins are in town for a visit.  Not my first cousins, but my husband’s, people I have known for the entirety of my thirty-five-year marriage.  As the years have tumbled into one another, these folks have become my relatives, too. Not because of my marriage, but because of my need to belong to an extended family.

For the past few days I’ve busied our relatives with unique local activities and venues. We have drunk far too much alcohol on days that are normally spent sipping tea and watching Netflix. I have marveled and giggled at family anecdotes, myths and legends. In between the sharing of family memories, I muse.  I wonder what it would’ve been like to grow up knowing my own blood relations, my own first cousins.

My twin sister and I grew up the oldest of six, and the top half of the birth order are adopted.  Since my adoptive mother is the youngest of thirteen, I grew up knowing plenty of first cousins, but they are not my blood relatives. They are my mother’s kin and they number close to ninety.  It’s difficult to develop meaningful bonds with that many first cousins, especially if you meet only once a year at the required family reunion in a picnic grove (see my 10/9 blog post about reunions being an adoptee’s touchpoint) or at weddings and funerals.

My adoptive father had just two older sisters, so gathering with this side of the family for holiday’s was simpler, easier.  Over the years I developed a bond with this handful of cousins. We rubbed elbows over turkey and dressing, chased down plastic eggs stuffed with candy in my aunt’s yard, and ran rampant after dark playing hide and seek or ding-dong-ditch.  Am I satisfied with the smattering of first cousins that colored the memories of my childhood?  Yes. Absolutely.

Just as emphatically I can say, I never dreamed I would someday meet any of my biological first cousins.  When I first began my search for my birth mother at 48, I set my sights on gathering family health history and genealogy.  That goal morphed into a face to face reunion and a relationship with my birth mother that is in its eighth year.  Since her unwed pregnancy and our relinquishment was a closely held secret, my birth mom was reluctant to widen the circle beyond my twin sister and me, our spouses and children.  Months passed before my birth mother introduced me to her closest sister. Several more months elapsed before a second aunt and uncle welcomed me into the family.

Knowing full well the names and locations of the remaining aunts and uncles was easy thanks to various genealogical sites.  Honoring my birth mother’s desire to take things slowly kept me from contacting birth relatives with whom I matched online. Her privacy and my relationship with her were more important than expanding family ties exponentially. Over the last three years, my birth mother’s secret squeaked out.  Her living siblings and spouses were shocked to learn their sister had twin daughters in their fifties, but they were thrilled that we had reentered her life.

When 23nMe notified me this summer that I had new relatives, I was nonplussed.  With more and more folks signing up for DNA testing and matching, I frequently receive these emails.  When I signed on the site, I didn’t expect to see a match with three first cousins.  I recognized their names from the genealogy my birth mother had passed on. A milestone. I debated about whether to reach out, or not. Wasn’t my birth mother’s secret out?  Wasn’t I free to connect with my relatives now?

Within weeks, we met on a beautiful sunny morning for breakfast at a hotel restaurant in Chicago.  All of us travelled some amount of distance to make this gathering happen. What was it like meeting a first cousin?  The eagerness the four of us felt as we slid across the leather booth and scooted our chairs in close was apparent.  Grins and coffee all around.  Similarities were evident, noses, eyes, a gesture here and smile there.  It was glorious. One for the record books.

Similar to hosting my husband’s cousins recently, the four of us shared stories and laughter. We promised to keep in touch, to plan another rendezvous, and to let our mothers in on the momentous event.  The waitress obliged with several cell phone pics, one of which I stare at now, framed on my desktop.  My first set of first cousins. Pinch me.

I’m still counting my adopted cousins as mine, because they are mine, we are legally bound.  Adding these girls to my growing family is a blessing I will continue to praise.  I am also grateful to genetic genealogy for unbinding the chains of my closed adoption.

While I don’t curse you anymore, adoption, I’m glad you are no longer in the way of my knowing from whom and where I came from.

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