We love family because they’re family, but sometimes we get lucky enough to have relatives we also admire and adore for who they are. If we’re even luckier, they become dear friends as well as relatives. That’s how I have always felt about my cousin Patsy, and our friendship—and my admiration—only deepened when I came to live with her in Atlanta last year. This tribute is about what I saw, and what I loved in her.
Growing up, I had always looked forward to visits from my worldly, sophisticated college cousin, and I was a flower girl at her wedding to her college sweetheart, Howard. Sadly, Patsy was widowed very young, but through grit, keen intelligence, and mastery of her profession, she succeeded in building a well-respected business and supporting two young children beyond many people’s wildest dreams. She was also one of the kindest, most generous people I have ever known, a font of practical advice and inspiration, and I suspect many of her good deeds remained known only to Patsy and the people she helped.
Patsy also exuded a warmth and womanly charm that stemmed from her very strong sense of self. She was a knockout and a night owl, and her powers stayed with her to the end. Well into an evening when I was still staying with her, I’d be powering down for sleep and she’d come sailing down the hallway after a full day of work, refreshed, dressed to the nines and looking gorgeous, ready to go out and have some fun! I was in awe.
She was one of those people who brought sparkle to every occasion, who *made* the occasion, and it was impossible to be around her without sharing her zest for well, just about everything. She loved poker, cocktails, dining and dancing, the theater, travel, and recommending books she “really thought I’d like.” She doted on her children, grandchildren, the whole clan, and treasured their joint vacations, holidays, and summer weekends on her big white boat at Lanier. I loved watching her wise and loving interactions with her grandchildren. She had a story for every single ornament on her Christmas tree, and her stories always involved family, and love.
We kept in touch, of course, after I moved to my own house. As we all hunkered down to shelter from coronavirus, I teased her that she would probably have to open an illegal casino and speakeasy in her basement, she was such a social creature. She roared with laughter at that one. Our very last check-in call had lots of laughter and joking, too. Patsy told me how she’d been afraid she had developed an allergy to gin. What, I said? No more martinis, or G&Ts? This cannot be! But she said it turned out the answer was to stop using cheap tonic water. We hung up the phone, still laughing.
Her absence is impossible.
Her absence is real.
I know it will never be filled, but it will glow around the edges.
I love you, cousin.