With my father’s recent death, I’m in the midst of an emotional reunion with many of my cousins on his side of the family, many whom I’ve not seen in 30-40 years.

We gathered after my father’s memorial service and compared notes. We all had different stories of when we last saw each other. We all had differing memories of what we did when we got together for reunions. Then we asked each other and ourselves why we’ve not seen each other in decades. Our conclusion? Blame our parents.

As the parent of a 33-year child, I’m no fan of being blamed for what I may or may not have done as I raised my kid. Then again, I wasn’t an overly religious, judgmental, and difficult to love parent. My words, by the way. I’ve not asked my kid whether this is correct.

A charismatic man, popular and liked and respected, dad had people all over the world that thought highly of him. I suppose I knew this, growing up. In hindsight, I was more preoccupied by the living situation of my family (white people in rural Asia). My father was just that—my father. He wasn’t popular with me because he was just dad.

Talking with my cousins after the memorial service showed me a side of dad I’d not known or seen. My cousins had their complicated relationship with their parents—siblings of dad. We discuss our grandparents and the few memories we have of them. We comb through our genealogy—the parts we know—our ancestors were an odd bunch. No wonder our parents were also odd. No wonder we, the cousins, are also all a bit different. Fair statement? I think so; I can live that assessment.

I now text furiously with my cousins. Almost all. For some reason, there are those that are perfectly comfortable with distance, time and emotion. I’ve not reconnected with them. The others? Absolutely. We all have had such different experiences in life and finding out intricate details about who’s been where and done what is a beautiful rekindling of our connection.

Rediscovering my cousins. I forced to find the good in dad’s death, my newfound connection with my cousins would be the plus.

Moments of clarity. A deep love of family. The joy of reconnecting. These were the gifts my father gave me in his death.