More Than Cousins

Growing up, I didn’t really think of my cousins as cousins. They were more like built-in siblings - an extension of my own little family. We shared everything: holidays, summers, secrets, and trouble we probably shouldn’t have been getting into. We weren’t just together on special occasions; we were raised together, stitched into the same patchwork of family history and chaos.

We fought like siblings, loved like siblings, and somehow always ended up on the same side when the world felt a little too big. We learned life together - how to climb trees, how to keep a straight face when we were caught red-handed, and badly it hurt for Wilma to wash the sand out of our eyes.

I have so many stories I could share about life with my cousins. There’s the infamous moment I’ll never let Brooke live down - the time she bit me on the tata and I ended up in the ER (yes, it’s as ridiculous as it sounds). Or the day Christy decided to play makeup artist for me and Gwen - only she made me look glamorous while poor Gwen looked like she’d just stepped out of the circus. And oh, Gwen… there are endless memories with her, like the time we discovered an old bed frame in the woods and turned it into our official clubhouse, our little hideaway from the world.

But it wasn’t just laughter and mischief. We shared each other’s heartbreaks, too. I’ll never forget the day Wilma passed away - the weight of Christy and Gwen’s sadness was so heavy, I felt it deep in my own bones.

In many ways, those years with them were my first lessons in loyalty, in forgiveness, in knowing someone so deeply that a single glance said everything. My cousins were my first best friends, my first co-conspirators, the people who shaped so much of who I am.

And the older I get, the more I realize how rare and beautiful that kind of bond truly is. It taught me the importance of showing up for people you love, even when it’s inconvenient. It taught me that family isn’t always about who you’re closest to geographically, but who you’re closest to at heart. And it showed me that the strongest connections don’t fade with time or distance - they simply grow softer around the edges, but remain just as steady.

Even now, as adults with our own families, our own worries, and fewer chances to gather under the same roof, I know that bond is still there. The same loyalty, the same shared history, the same unspoken understanding. It’s the kind of connection you carry with you your whole life.

When Hope got sick, I hadn’t seen Gwen in years, but it only took one phone call. I dropped everything to be by her side. That’s what family does for one another - what siblings would do for one another.

Because cousins like that? They’re more than family. They’re home.