Summertime is a season of travel, homecomings and reunions. My friend Michele recently returned from a family gathering in Maine, where generations—parents, aunts, uncles, children and grandchildren—came together to celebrate family. She reconnected with cousins she hadn’t seen in years and the coastal breeze carried their laughter in the warm air.

Some of my fondest memories come from family reunions in the Tennessee hills. Tucked-away memories renewed tales of old sprinkled with giggles and tears.  Those who lived long ago were reborn when their life stories were retold.  

It’s hard to imagine how such a boisterous group of folks suddenly became silent. Time moved too quickly. Many are gone and the rest have scattered into separate lives beyond those green hills. 

When friends share their summer reunion stories, I’m reminded of how much I miss those happy family moments. Now, I picture my loved ones gathering in Heaven, still recounting tales in the back yard of God’s house.

I often write about my cousin Bobby. Though we only truly got to know each other a few years ago, his wit, honesty and even his looks remind me so much of my father and his family. Every time I see Bobby, it feels like my heart is going home.

Then there’s Ann, my first cousin. We lost touch for more than 50 years, which seems absurd given how close we were in age—just a year apart—and how close our fathers were. Growing up, I didn’t think we had much in common. We didn’t look alike, act alike and to be honest, I’m not sure we even liked each other back then.

But that changed, thanks to Bobby and our shared love for our family history. I made the trip to visit Ann, bringing with me old photos, heirlooms and handwritten family stories. These mementos helped rebuild our connection, sparking conversations that bridge the gap of our 50-year absence.

Driving up the pasture road to her lake house in the Tennessee hills, I never imagined Ann residing in such a quiet, serenely beautiful place. As kids, I always imagined Ann in a mansion and myself in a barn—we were just that different. But when she greeted me with a hug and invited me in, it became clear: We’d lost much more than mere years. And we had so much to catch up on.

Ann married a wonderful man and raised two beautiful daughters. Her dry humor reminded me of her mother, whom I adored. She’s a gifted writer, too, and should pen more absolutely hilarious op-eds like the one for which she won an award long ago. Her writing reflects her wisdom and charm, often sprinkled with insightful observations and a healthy dose of funny satire.

As the days went on, I began to see just how much we actually have in common—not only with each other, but with Bobby, too. That realization filled me with unexpected joy and a sense of belonging that I had not felt in a long time. 

After all these years, the delight of finding Ann is a testament to the enduring, unbreakable power of family bonds. It’s a comforting reminder that no matter how much time has passed, the love and connection within a family can prevail.  

Ann and I tried to make up for our 50-year absence in three days, but lost time can’t be reclaimed and grief can’t be undone. Still, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude for the time we do have.

Families are carefully bound together by God’s hands. Such unions are to be treasured and we should always gather to remember the profound significance of kinship.  We may disagree, we may drift, but we were placed together for a reason. 

For most of us, our family is our safety net. And when the world feels too heavy, it’s often a cousin, sister or brother who will help us weather the storm, providing a sense of security and comfort in the face of life’s challenges. They remind us that we are never truly alone.

I can’t reclaim the lost years with Bobby or Ann, but I am beyond joyful knowing that we are a part of each other’s story because we share a bond that time or distance cannot erase.  We are kin, and one day, I believe we will gather again in God’s back yard and laugh at the joy of it all. 

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