Recently, my family gathered for a wedding where extended family from near and far came to celebrate pure joy. Young love is inspiring, but catching up with family members and hearing about their triumphs and struggles are the conversations we remember long after the dance floor clears. It’s a chance to reiterate our belief in one another and remind us that grit and tenacity continue to thrive through our generational fabric.
Shortly thereafter, I attended a picnic where my husband’s family met with cousins who shared the lighthearted experiences of childhood. I heard laughter when reminisces of summertime mischievousness connected with holiday excursions to the neighborhood creek, all laced with insider folly. We seem to bring our individual chronicles to the meeting place where, despite the passage of time, we can rest in the unyielding support that “the days of old” provide. Our collective narrative gives lift to our being.
Reunions tap into an old feeling, an unspoken language, or a definition of who you were — which may be quite different from who you are now. What is often overlooked in the act of reconnection is the evolution each person brings to the old story. Sometimes we forget that living forces us to grow, become enriched, and change. Revealing new dimensions of ourselves yields delight and surprise. When we celebrate and laugh about the past, we can also rise up with sparkle about what is new.
Most of us think we need to bring our best face forward when attending a reunion. I say bringing imperfect is enough. It’s all about authenticity, which is quite liberating. After so many years, our bellies are a bit thicker and hair color may be non-negotiable. Being able to say I’ve taken my own path, survived the unexpected, and am still in the game can be the greatest gift to another finding his or her way. Those who are able to soar higher than their heaviest burdens provide remarkable inspiration. Others may still be in the pinch of struggle, and this joyful occasion allows the respite of celebration. Reunions should be a safe place to land, where the history of connection offers a welcome mat.
The chance to say, “I knew you when,” is only part of the journey, as life take us to unexpected places. We’ve all felt the comfort in sharing genuinely. It’s evident when hugs linger with those we haven’t seen in a long time, or see their smile shine beyond faces lined by experience. Saying, “I remember” means we were all paying attention.
In a few weeks, my husband and I will be attending our high school reunion. Forty years of catching up is a tall order, but I suspect our delight in listening, knowing we walked the same hallways of our youth, will be remarkable. I look forward to another stroll down memory lane. Even more thrilling will be the stories of creativity and richness born from our common thread. The best stories may yet be told.
Centerville writer Anne Marie Romer is a regular contributor.
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