Published: June 18, 2008 05:18 pm            

The Yield: Cousins reconcile decades after hurtful correspondence

Originally published in the June 13, 2008, print edition.

My mother’s side of the family grew up in Duluth. The terrain was a stark contrast to the black farmland of southern Minnesota. The cool air up north smelled of pine trees.

It was a summer treat to go to visit our grandparents who still lived there. They owned a small lake cottage just north of Duluth. I could hardly wait to run to the water’s edge of Rose Lake, where the row boat bobbed in the water waiting for grown-ups to come and give us a ride.

The family was large. Mom was the youngest of one son and four daughters. That meant lots of cousins. It was a close family unit but, in time, all but Uncle Bob moved to other parts of the United States.

All of us came together for my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary. Each of our brood quickly latched on to family members who looked the same age. That anniversary celebration cemented family relationships for many years. Aunts and uncles were each special in their own ways. It was fun to meet Mom’s side of the family.

Three of us girl cousins were born in 1944 — Barbara, Nancy and myself. We clicked. Though visits were not frequent, we kept in touch at Christmas or family concerns of births and deaths. Just recently, Aunt Betty Jane from Atlanta, Ga., died. My sister, Debby, shared the news with our Mom. Though her short-term memory is not good, she said sadly, “I’m the only one left.”

My Mom’s family hosted a reunion at the home farm near Good Thunder in 1978. Again, the three of us celebrated our closeness to each other. As part of our celebration, we met in Vernon Center to decorate a float for the Fourth of July Parade. Grandfather Seitz was seated on a chair with “P-a-t-r-i-a-r-c-h” spelled out on paper plates. They were stapled on the back of the hayrack arching over his head.

The next reunion was celebrated in Georgia without our Grandfather.

It was there that my favorite aunt confronted me about my terrible letter to her daughter. I thought I had written a letter to encourage her about her upcoming divorce. After all, I was a Christian, and wanted to help her. It came off as condescending. I had a lot to learn. That was around 1980. I had not seen the California relatives since. From time to time the “letter” has jolted my psyche.

“Sue,” my sister began, “Barbara is coming to Minnesota to a wedding in her husband’s family. She wants to come and visit with Mom. Come to Mom’s at 5 o’clock. We’ll have supper with her and Mom.”

“Stan, I hope this is a time to make amends,” I shared hopefully. I wondered how that would be, in the nursing home; not very private with the rest of my family there.

We arrived on time. “Your sisters just left,” the nurse said. I got Deb on the cell. “Am I late?” I groaned.

“It was at 1:30, Sue,” she affirmed. “But they are staying at the Best Western.”

We walked into the lobby. It was quiet, comfortable and welcoming. After chatting and catching up, it was time to make amends. We were seated facing each other in two very comfortable chairs. There was a table between us. “Barb, do you remember the letter I wrote to you?” Tears welled in her eyes.

“Your Mom told me in Georgia. She was very angry with me. I’ve been thinking about it all these years. ... Barb, I trespassed into your life.” I pointed to the table. “God made you and He made me. Each of us is unique and different.”

I got up out of my chair and stood beside her. “I stepped across our line. I infringed my values and morals on you. Do you see my chair? It’s empty. I didn’t like my side of the line; I’ve made amends to God, to other people and now to you. Will you forgive me?”

The tears continued. “It’s all forgiven,” she said. “You don’t know how much this means to me.” We chatted a bit more, and then said our goodbyes with hugs and tears.

“Stan, do you think I heard 5 instead of 1:30?” I thanked God that I heard 5 instead of 1:30.

Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Matthew 6:12

        

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