Yesterday was an awesome day.

Not everything went right but that doesn’t change things; the bad things give the day texture and intensifies what was truly transcendent.

Let’s start with the bad: I had a tiff with the owner of the beach house we are renting starting Saturday. I had to deal with some very friendly but inept bank customer service people. I had to deal with various “fire drills” and on-again-off-again deals at the office.

I couldn’t pick up my son from camp because I needed to see a relative in the hospital, so my partner needed to be SuperMom and SuperPartner and rush up town (as she has done all week) to pick up, bathe and get our son re-dressed for dinner at my dad’s house.  My dad was hosting my aunt and her grandchildren from out of town.  At this point, I have used up all my martyr points and I am way in debt.

So far, a stressful day.

I went to the hospital to visit my cousin who came through very successful surgery. I tried hard not to make him laugh because it hurt. I failed but in the end my cousin was glad for the laughs and ignored the pain. Invariably, gross details of family history come out and, of course, they are funnier in the re-telling because they become ever-more exaggerated.

I left the hospital feeling this strong vibe of life and healing even though I am not the patient. Laughing is good for the soul. Then I hopped a cab to my dad’s house where everyone was waiting, some less patiently than others.

SuperPartner was sweating as my father doesn’t believe in over-air conditioning, and over-compensates in the other direction — “in the Depression, we slept on the fire escapes” — ok Dad, please don’t put that idea in my son’s head. Please, really, stop, stop because that is a crazy thought at any age in any time. I hold my hands over my child’s ears and wait out this story as I imagine child services coming because my child listened to his grandfather.

It was great to spend time with two of my aunt’s grand kids, especially when it comes to explaining who is really who in the family — whether by piece of paper, by blood and through love. For example, the grand kids didn’t know that the wife of a divorced couple was my aunt’s and my mom’s college friend and the husband was my aunt’s first cousin. That meant that though divorced, they had to suck it up and be nice at family gatherings. Then the wife remarried, as did the husband and then the new spouses had to get along. Then the wife died (with both husbands at her bedside) and the second husband remarried. The new wife fell right in family beat by asking questions, like, “so a double mastectomy?” within hours of meeting a person.

As we were laughing through these memories, names of so many we have lost tripped off our tongues. One grandchild asked, “so we are not related to [Person A]?”  The answer of course is yes, dear cousin, we are related because love makes a family. And I love you, my little cousin, and our crazy patchwork of people who makes us a family.

And when we got home and carried our half asleep son into bed, I was full of hope from the laughter, the love and the healing of this day.