The Land of My Fathers

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My phone vibrated. I checked the screen. It was my aunt. I grew up hearing her name in stories my father told of his childhood, but I had never spoken to her before. I took a deep breath before answering. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Breanna?"

"Yes, that's me."

"This is your aunt, Kathy, your dad's sister. I got your voicemail. I'm guessing you're wondering how your grandma is doing?"

I gripped the phone tighter. "Yeah, I am. Last I heard she had a heart attack. That's about all I know."

"Well, there's not much more to tell." Aunt Kathy sighed. "She's in the hospital, and she's not doing to well." Her voice quivered ever so slightly. There was a silence. "No one is expecting her to come home."

I didn't know her that well, but I could hear the sadness in her voice, and I understood it. The connection that I felt with her surprised me. Yes, we were both losing someone close to us, she a mother and I a grandmother, but I had never even had contact with my family. Not the family on my dad's side at least. And not because I didn't want to, but because distance had always separated us.

My father was born and raised in Modesto, CA. He moved to Delaware before starting a family, so my siblings and I were raised at the other side of the country. But now things had shifted. College brought me back to the Golden State, the land of my father and grandfather, and now I was only a bus trip away from my aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandmother. A group of people that shared a last name, a heritage, and a bloodline . . . but I had never met them.

I held the phone without speaking a word. I couldn't decide if it was an akward silence, or two family members sharing a moment, mourning together. Perhaps it was a mix of both.

What makes a family? Will I ever truly know?