Family ties

My mother, like many of her generation, came from a large family -- at least by today's standards.

My mother is one of five sisters, and their brother was the oldest of the siblings. My father is one of five brothers, and their sister was the oldest. Now my mother and one older sister, both in their 80s, are the last representatives of their generation. My father is the last of his family. I am hoping this means good genes have been passed along to me. But nothing is certain.

Whenever I see doctors for the first time, they evaluate my medical history -- I eat too much and get too little exercise -- and seem genuinely surprised to find out my ticker's in pretty good shape, I'm not diabetic and my cholesterol is acceptable, which leaves them confounded until I mention my parents, whose longevity may have more to do with stubbornness than anything else.

Within the past few days, both my mother here in Cape Girardeau and her sister -- now living near a son in Iowa -- have been hospitalized with pneumonia, low oxygen and other ailments that come with survival. As a result, I have been in contact with a cousin I rarely see except at family reunions or funerals -- the latter being another marker of my generation's advancing years.

I have a passel of cousins. Since my brother wasn't born until I was in my teens, some of my cousins were the closest thing I had to brothers and sisters.

Over the years, my generation and our children have spread not just all over the country, but all over the world, from Washington state to Boston, from Japan to Ireland to Paris. Like many of your families, this diaspora is an indication of the interests and achievements of a bunch of smart kids. And they are good-looking too, if I may say so.

While my family has been busy procreating and exploring the world, it hasn't been terribly good at staying connected. There was a period of almost 30 years -- when my wife and I lived everywhere in the country except close to our Missouri roots -- that we saw our parents once or twice a year and never saw our cousins. Attendance at the family reunion, held in August in the Ozarks over yonder where cemetery headstones date back several generations, seems to dwindle every year. If all of my cousins and their children (and, now, grandchildren) were ever in the same place at the same time, it would be quite a crowd.

The Internet has reconnected most of my cousins, thanks to the diligence of one St. Louis cousin who updates contact information and helps spread the word when there's something everyone needs to know, like the exact date of the reunion (divined by a complex calculation that, I swear, involves a full moon) and illnesses, like the one my mother and aunt have just experienced.

Until a couple of years ago, my mother and aunt lived in the same small town and talked almost every day, went to the same church and saw each other frequently. Now they are both in strange cities but close to family, which makes emergency trips to hospitals logistically easier but no less taxing emotionally. And because of hoarse throats and hearing challenges, it's nearly impossible for the two sisters to have a decent telephone conversation. My mother has been distressed to no end this week because she can't have a nice, long chat with her hospitalized sister. My wife and I have been commissioned to gather daily updates and send them along.

Some of my cousins wonder if the family reunion, which has been held since before many of us were born, might be jeopardized by the recent hospitalizations. If any of them want my opinion, I say have the reunion. It's what my mother and aunt would want. And they also would want more of their offspring to show up. I've had that lecture from both of them, so I think it's only right to spread the admonishment around a bit.

Come August, there may be a sparse group, but those who are there will be there because they think it's that important.

That's good enough for the Miller girls. It's good enough for me.

R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.