Reverie

It is Saturday night, and I feel different: wonderfully so. I was plagued by nerves on the flight, but I was confident I would be okay either way. I didn't expect anything to go horribly wrong, but I didn't know they could go so fantastically smoothly, either. You don't know what will happen.

I got off the plane, turned on my phone, and saw a text from my cousin saying they were stuck in Nashville traffic. It was snowing. I waited and breathed until they arrived, and before I knew it, I was folded in big hugs from my cousin and C. W, my cousin, installed me as navigator and we were on the way.

Everything was just EASY. I could tell they wanted me there and loved me. We joked and laughed for the hours it took to drive North to Indiana, and I was at ease. I didn't cry at all. I just belonged. And when we got to the hotel, my aunt and uncle were waiting. My uncle pulled me out of the car for a hug, and he told me how glad he was to meet me at last.

C and I spent hours looking at photographs, and I could see myself in her and her father.

I have been welcomed so openly and generously that I can see where I get my temperament from, if you know me IRL.

This weekend (and it is not over yet) has given me love of such an extraordinary degree that sometimes I am speechless. I just sit back and listen to conversations and drink in little things, such as stories about my deceased grandfather and great-grandparents. It is all new to me.

My brother calls one of us to check in periodically, and this afternoon, C, my aunt, uncle, cousins, and I were sitting at a table, chatting. C was on the phone with A, and asked if anyone wanted to talk to A. W said, "Yes, I will speak to Aunt C's bastard child," and I said, "No, I am sitting right here." Everyone laughed very hard.

No more secrets is the mantra here, and they mean it.