I am no different from anyone else, despite my protestations to the contrary. I live each day making choices: Coffee or tea; up Skinker to Kienlen to Jennings Station Road or just take 170 to 270; junk food for lunch or Lean Cuisine?
When my marriage dissolved, I decided I would make my choices and not look back on my life with regret for things I might have, should have, could have done. Yet today, that’s exactly where I am, wondering if the road I’ve chosen is the road I should be on.
Last night I attended the visitation of my cousin — well, actually, she was my dad’s first cousin — and today was the service and interment.
I’ve been away from the Italian side of the family for much too long.
I was so wrapped up in my then-husband’s family… there would always be time to get together with everyone but there really wasn’t. Once the marriage was over, I always meant to go down and visit and catch up, but I let Time get away from me, over and over again.
My dad’s cousin Vi was a remarkable woman. She and her husband Sal were married for 64 years, and lived in the same house since 1954 or so. I didn’t know this. She was a devout Catholic (I knew this), she sang with the choir (I knew this too), and she served on the Parish Council (I didn’t know this). There was always a pot of coffee on and ready, and you always came into the house through the carport door.
Her funeral Mass was held at Saint Francis of Assissi Church this morning. About 33 years ago, my grandmother was also buried from this Church. I was just turning sixteen then.
Now my younger cousins are all grown up, some of them married with kids of their own, and I’m feeling regretful — regretful that I didn’t make time to drive down to South County just to catch up.