I’m sitting at a table at the Blue Bird Cafe with my niece, Josephine and her boyfriend Ryan.  I  haven’t seen her for ten years but have watched her progress through college and graduation on Facebook, in her posts and those of her father, my brother Frank.  She and Ryan have come to KC for the weekend, and she called me, three hours ago, asking if I could meet her for brunch.

You bet.

I don’t know if I have been this nervous since I took the Arkansas Bar exam.  I consider my brother Frank to be the most successful person in our family, or one of the top three (Ann and Mark being the other two whom I rank tied for first).  Married a hundred years to the same person — his college sweetheart, no less — parent to seven fabulous children, teaching at his high school alma mater, living in a three-story rehabbed home in South St. Louis.

So his daughter must be equally fabulous and I’m nervous to meet, for the first time, her adult self.  I’m not disappointed:  She’s sweet, open, friendly, and her gentle relate with Ryan shows that she is also empathetic.  We probe each other about our lives, which means I ask her a lot of questions and answer some about my son, who’s just a year younger than she is.  We sit in a quiet corner in the back room of the Blue Bird and spend a priceless hour together, before I hug her, on the corner of 17th and Summit, and shake Ryan’s hand.  I have a strained relationship with my family, especially my siblings, but somehow, I seem able to forge a connection with my nieces.

I think about Lisa, and Chelsea, and Amy; and I think about my shared daughters, especially Tshandra, and I wonder, how did I get to be so blessed, given how many missteps I’ve taken?  I reflect, for a few minutes, standing on that corner, on my lovely stepdaughter Cara who married her adorable boyfriend last night in Omaha, and I feel a wisp of regret to have lost that connection.  But I am happy for her; and as for myself, I am very happy that I had brunch with my niece.  A simple but irreplaceable pleasure.

I’m halfway home before it dawns on me that I didn’t get a picture of us together.  A good excuse for a St. Louis run, I think, and pull out onto 47th street, next to a fountain colored blue, with my window down and Neko Case serenading the city through my radio.

Josephine Corley