The Photograph

Recently I had the opportunity to reconnect with two of my nieces, through the rediscovery of a friendship with my brother's ex-wife. She gave me the chance to finally get to know her, and her and my brother's two children, who are now 25 and 20. The last time I saw my brother's son he was 11, and it was at my sister's Ludwina's funeral in Georgia. I have never met my brother's daughter, and when I saw her picture, I was stunned to see this strong, beautiful young woman. It was incredibly moving. Barbara, my brother's ex-wife, also let me know my sister Goedele's daughter, who is 15 now, was interested in getting to know me. To see this girl's picture, was like seeing my sister again the way she looked at that age. It was uncanny, the same bright smile, the same clear, intelligent eyes, the easy charm. Genetics are really bizarre. Her daughter even wears her hair the same way my sister did at that age. It was equally touching to see a picture of my brother's son , and to see the face of my sister's 13 year old son. And just yesterday, by chance, I saw a picture of my father's oldest sister's youngest daughter, whom I last saw when she was about 5 years old. She communicates with my sister's daughter, and as it turns out they both are connected to the same town in Belgium, where my cousin works, and my niece goes to school. To see my cousin Cristl smile in the beautiful picture of her and her husband left me dazed.I had not seen that face in more than 40 years. She has her sisters' smile, as I remember them as teenagers, the few times we were able to hang out together. She looks happy, fashionably dressed, tall, slender, beautiful. I wasn't looking for her picture, but there it was, just smiling back at me, and I saw my own smile, my own family resemblance. I sent her a message,and I do not know if she will answer as my mother made sure there was always a lot of bad blood between her and our father's family, ensuring in the process that my cousin's mother,  now basically hates me and my brother. There is no else left to hate, as both my younger sisters are dead, and so are my mother and father. Both I guess hatred is one of those things you can conveniently pass on to the next generation. It doesn't help that I look a lot like my mother who always treated our father's family with disdain. It certainly did not help that our mother convinced her children that our father did not deserve anything but our indifference, so when he was exiled back to Belgium, it became impossible for me to reach out between manipulative maneuvers on my mother's part, and limited financial input and power. To see Cristl' smiling face was gut wrenching, a smarting realization at a lifetime of possible friendship and kinship lost to the whims of a spoiled woman, my mother, and a man hypnotized by her every wish, my father. My brother , and two sisters and I were the uninformed sacrificial lambs. My father's people are intelligent and resourceful, and strong, and it will always hurt to know we lost the opportunity to get to truly know his two sisters' children. Through my friendship with my father's youngest sister, Lieve, I have been able to re-establish a good connection with his sister Denise and her husband, and one of their sons, my cousin Mark. It feels like fixing the broken threads on a precious fabric, slow, painstaking, but well worth it. I keep hoping some day soon my husband and son and I will be able to afford a trip back to Belgium, so I can see again my aunts and uncle, and my long lost cousins, and their children  and even grandchildren, and begin to make up for lost chances and in the process,  soften the bitter harvest of a lifetime of twisted lies and their resultant misunderstandings.