I texted my cousin who lives in Georgia the other week, checking in to see how he fared during Hurricane Helene. He was lucky, he said, the worst of the storm largely bypassed his town. Then he wrote: “You are my closest relative.” 

The last time I saw him was 45 years ago. 

I could feel the grief behind those words.  “Let’s talk on the phone,” I texted. I was his family, and maybe it had been 45 years but I didn’t want him to feel alone.

I knew that he had cut off all contact with his parents and his brothers and when we spoke, I understood why. That seems to happen in my family. Cousins don’t speak with their siblings, or their parents. For whatever problems I had in my family of origin, and there were plenty, my brother, sister and I stayed connected.

That connection has become more important with time. When my husband and our sons traveled back east this summer, we spent the day with my sister, her husband, and my niece’s family. We got there in the late morning. Our adult sons played soccer with her girls, while the rest of us sat on the deck, drinking ice tea or wine, basking in each other’s company. The sun crossed the sky, and then it was twilight. No one wanted the day to end. It was easily the happiest I’ve been in a very long time. My sons said the same thing.

That day got me thinking about why there was a time, many decades ago, that I needed to turn away from my family, and why, in my later years, I chose to return.

I write this newsletter during the holiest of times in the Jewish year, the days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur known as the Days of Awe. In services a few days ago, the rabbi shared the concept of teshuva, or return, a concept that’s often spoken about this time of year. One interpretation of teshuva is repentance. But my rabbi offered a different interpretation. He said think of it as a return, and what we are returning to is our true self.

I understand why my cousin turned away from his family of origin. I did the same. I understand that sometimes you need to leave home and go on your journey to find your true self. To create an authentic life based on who you really are, not what others expect of you or think of you. What I didn’t expect was that I would return.  While my parents are gone, my extended family isn’t. I want to love them while I can. I want them to know I care about their well being. That I will be there to cheer them on as they move through their lives, and do my best to  help catch them if they fall. And how happy I am that our children’s stories will continue, long after we’re gone.