It’s probably more accurate to say I came into her life. After all, she was on the planet nearly 50 years before me, and the only reason we met in the first place back in 1999 is because I had the privilege of dating her oldest granddaughter. I don’t recall the specific details of our first encounter, but I know this: I’d lost my last great-grandparent in the fall of 1995, lost my mom’s mom to cancer in the fall of 1997 and my dad’s mom had a life-altering stroke in the late summer of 1999.
I loved those women, and I just wasn’t ready to be done having that type of relationship in my life. Barb didn’t need another grandkid — she had 15 by then, from about ages 5 to 20 — but she accepted me anyway. Sitting around her kitchen table felt right from the first moment.
Kristie brought me into the family. Cindy treated me like a son way before I deserved such respect. And I guess if I passed muster with those two, I was OK with Barb.
In the summer of 2002 Kristie and I were married in the Cottral family’s church in downtown Savanna. Almost two years later we had the honor of introducing Barb to her first great-grandchild, a delightful little boy we named Jack in honor of her late husband of more than 50 years.
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| 2011: Jack, Charlie and Great How |
She subscribed to the Clinton Herald the whole time I worked there, even though we hardly wrote about Savanna. Every time we stopped by I’d see one of my bylines on a paper sitting around the kitchen or living room, and she’d either ask me about a story she read or see if I could do something about getting her a better carrier.
I’d make my dad jealous telling him about all the Cottral or Brown family fish fries I got to attend, knowing it made him think of his own time growing up in Northwestern Illinois. We still talk about the 2001 hog roast down at Rick’s place where it rained so hard for so long we swear we saw the Mississippi backwaters rising in front of our eyes. For decades my dad never tasted deviled eggs that matched the ones his mom made — until that hog roast.
We probably could have gone to Manny’s Pizza a lot more, too, but that’s a taste neither my dad nor I never really acquired. My grandparents used to bring me down to Manny’s from Elizabeth fairly regularly during my stays at the farmhouse, and our yearly camping trips almost always included a hike at Palisades. I can’t help but wonder if I ever crossed paths with the Cottrals years before we became family. I also wonder how many folks were lucky like me and got made to feel like family. That’s just how welcoming they all were, and that kind of warmth starts at the top.
With all my grandparents, I feel as if I lost them twice. Once to an illness that changed them from the person I knew in my youth, and once when their bodies finally gave out. But Great How, as we called her, was there just this Thanksgiving. I can still see her face, still hear her voice and her laugh because it’s exactly as it’s always been to me for more than 15 years now.
It’s very hard to believe she won’t be there for Christmas. Having experienced losses along the way, I have a hint of the shock and pain being felt among this extended family that so warmly accepted me all those years back, and my heart breaks for them. I can’t write or say anything to make it better.
But I want them all to know this: it’s been a tremendous blessing to be made part of this family. Anyone would be lucky to just find the right person with whom to share life and raise kids, but to find my way into these bonus extended families has been a gift beyond description. The person we all loved has gone ahead to join those who went before, and we’re left here with memories. But not just memories, for we have each other, blood relative or not. Love like that sticks around because we’re keeping someone special alive in our hearts — together. It’s an honor to be in that crowd.
