Yesterday, my mom called to tell me that my cousin had passed away. I haven’t seen her in at least 30 years, but hearing the news made me think about two things. First, I started thinking about my own mortality, since she was just a year younger than me at 61. She died of a stroke, and strangely, her brother, my other cousin, had one about 10 years ago at 45. I wonder if strokes run in her family.
The other thing that struck me was how much time has passed. When we were kids, we spent a lot of time together. Our grandmothers were sisters, so every Thanksgiving was a big event. If you know Italian families, you know there was always plenty of food, laughter, and noise. Time goes by so quickly, I didn’t realize it had been at least 30 years since I last saw her. I can’t even remember our last meeting. It feels strange that her passing feels more like hearing about a distant neighbor than family. It’s sad how people drift apart, but I guess that’s just part of life. It reminds me of a recent daily prompt about the meaning of life. I still don’t know the answer, but I think it’s important to live each day as best you can with the hand you’re dealt. We never know when it will be our last.
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