When I think of her I think of teacups and cats.

And Boston. And England. And dainty little fingers. And coral lipstick.

She is my only female cousin on my mom’s side and she is 12 years older than me. Which makes her 65.

And about a month ago she asked me to write a tribute to her for her memorial service. Actually, what she really said was “I’m working on my memorial service (what, you think I wouldn’t try to control that?) and I’d like you to do one of your funny/spot on tributes and read it.”

So here we are.

Truthfully, I had already started writing it.

Two years ago she was diagnosed with ALS. And like the disease itself, her timeline is unpredictable. She is declining. I’m going to see her in a few weeks knowing this is probably the last time I will see her. And it’s another important person I am losing. Along with my mother, her mother, my sister, my father, and now her, my surrogate sister. And at this point, it’s beginning to feel as though while the branches of my tree of life might be growing, the roots are being yanked out of the ground one by one. With nothing to hold it stable, won’t the tree eventually just fall over?

If you know her well, you know she has had more tragedy and life shake-ups than most people. If you don’t know her, well, those stories are hers to tell, but to say she has moved through them and come to a place of grace and gratefulness is an understatement.

The truth is, I used to be scared of her. Let’s just say in her early years I don’t think you would have described her as easy going. She had a bit of an edge. Besides, twelve years is a wide age gap when you are growing up. By the time I was in Jr. High she was already living her adult life in Boston. She had moved there to be a journalist and had re-named herself “Cate” when NO ONE was Cate with a “C.” Especially not a Greek girl whose extended family could not understand why she would do this and did we have to call her Cate because she will always be Cathy to us and what the heck we will never get used to Cate.

Side Note: At this point she went rogue. Ok, not really. But as the memories start flooding back to me while I write this, I realize that she really tested the limits of our judgmental conservative, Midwestern, Greek-Orthodox family. First, she had a boyfriend that SHE WAS LIVING WITH. I mean, this was such a scandal at the time that I am nervous putting it in print right now 35 years later. I remember the phone calls between my mother and aunt discussing this unheard-of development. (NOBODY TELL YIAYIA!) Never mind she was in her 30’s with a full-time job half-way across the country. Thank goodness she married the guy. But then there was the non-denominational wedding (hand-wringing) with a lady minister (Kyrie Eleison) where no, they did not read about the Wedding at Cana but instead read from THE VELVETEEN RABBIT (“‘What is real?’ said the rabbit,” the poor bridesmaid choked out through tears).

But the joke was on them. No, it did not turn out to be the happily ever after my mom and aunt had apparently hoped for her, with the Greek husband who did not cook or clean or watch the kids but still made all the decisions. Instead, she found herself an ideal partner. And I mean that. I know very few marriages where the two people appreciate each other strengths and quirks as much as those two do. After 32 years of marriage they still not only love each other, but they like each other too.

But I digress.

We saw her maybe once a year. As far as I was concerned she was not my peer, she was an ADULT. I mean, she called our Aunt Susan “Susan.” By her first name! She didn’t seem to share the family silliness the rest of us shared. (In truth, she has a GREAT sense of humor and when I have the occasional oddball observation or catty comment I know she will laugh without judgement.) It was just hard for me to recognize this as a 12-year-old. I could not relate to this sophisticated cousin I barely knew.

Side Note: We are actually similar in many ways, but I didn’t figure that out until much later. She is smart and sarcastic, and sensitive and funny and a great writer (ok, fine, maybe that one is a stretch for me). She is opinionated and isn’t afraid to go against the grain and say what she believes, regardless of how popular her viewpoint is. She excels at sarcasm and wit. I realize now that I am an adult that she gets me in a way few people do. She was around when I was a very difficult child for my mother. And I think she was there to maybe even give some advice to my mom. Former pain-in-the-ass kids understand current ones better than most.

But then I moved to Boston for grad school. I was 24 and she was 36. We were finally at a point in our lives where age was not a deterrent to friendship. Yes, she was married with a toddler, but we were both adults. I would visit her downtown at her job when I was on campus, and then on the weekends at her house in the suburbs to either babysit or do my laundry, usually both.

My two years in Boston were both the darkest and happiest time of my life. It was a significant period for me and was crucial to who I am today. There were lots of stressors and little support and I was far from home. The fact that Cate and my sister Melissa and I were all living on the East Coast created a forever bond between us.

She is the one I call when I’m not sure if I’m using a semi-colon right (I’m not; like, ever). She is the one who texted me after I wrote a blog on grammar to tell me my grammar is ok but my punctuation could use some help. She is the one who when I was going through a bit of a depression informed me of the not-so-uplifting news that studies say happiness is a bell curve and we are happiest in our 20’s and 60’s (Gee, thanks. That’s promising.)

She is the one known for her creative and thoughtful, often handmade gifts. She is also known for starting said creative and thoughtful, often handmade gifts, and getting them to you one, two, three months (or years) after the event. (This is actually a genetic family trait so I’m not going to fault her on this one.)

She is the one who fan-girled with me at Copley Place in 1994 when Olympic speed skater Dan Jansen was there signing autographs. We waited in a long line so we could have him sign our newly purchased Olympic-themed Swatch watches. She was cool as a cucumber while I said something ridiculous and then bolted.

She is the one who drove over an hour in a snowstorm when I called my sister desperate with grief after my mom died. It was the Nor’easter of 1994 but Cate showed up at my door to take care of me.

She is the one who I think of when I hear Billy Joel, James Taylor, Carole King and Carly Simon.

I have watched more family members nearing the end of their life than I care to remember. This one feels different. There is not a desperate struggle through the next treatment. A blind hope for a miracle. A positive attitude to fight the good fight. I only see an even-keeled acceptance. A serenity that I admire. A gradual decline coupled with increasing support from family and friends. Adjustments have been made to keep her mobile, communicative, and comfortable. I am sure she has her days, but I sure don’t see them. I asked her the other day if she was scared. “No,” she said. “Sad.”

Me too.

***This essay was written before my dear cousin passed away on August 4th, 2022, hence the use of present tense. When she asked me to write this tribute to her, she shared that she hoped she would be able to read it someday. I did, in fact, sent it to her several weeks before she died. I read an edited version for the actual memorial service, but this is the original version. I will miss her terribly. ***