Every summer, usually towards the beginning of June, my close family and I embark on a week-long excursion to the beach. The people included in this exclusive list are: my mom, my mom’s partner, grandma, my three cousins from Texas — how many of them that come each year varies — and my aunt. We cram into one house, there are bodies everywhere, and no one has nearly enough personal space.

It is so fun, but it is a real test of one’s patience, especially for someone who has spent the first 17 years of her life as an only child.

In June, we all trekked onto the ferry to Martha’s Vineyard, together.

It was the first time my family and I had been there in seven years because I got horribly seasick on the ferry ride home the last time and didn’t want to fathom the idea of stepping onto that boat again. My mom convinced me to try again, though, because I had been having other health issues at the time, which have since been resolved. I’m not going to lie, I was nervous driving onto that boat.

I had a pit in my stomach that something would go wrong. Because even though my health has been the most relatively stable that it’s been in the last few years, some concerning episodes have happened. Having generalized anxiety makes a person immediately go to worst-case scenarios.

And I was semi-right to have that anxiety, because things always inevitably do go wrong — at some point. For instance, the first two days we were there, my wheelchair took the opportunity to wildly malfunction. My mom had to call the company that handles the repairs to my wheelchair, and was able to reset the chair so that it would hopefully stop glitching which, thankfully, worked.

To backtrack a little bit, though. Upon stepping off the boat in Vineyard Haven, I did breathe a sigh of relief about having arrived there intact. It would be the first time that my cousins and I would be together for an extended period of time in almost eight years.

And I was cautiously optimistic about how the week would go. Because, as most do, our connection ebbs and flows from year-to-year.

Article continues after...

Yesterday's Most Read Articles

Greenfield resident wanted by FBI for illicit marijuana operation

Greenfield Truck & Equipment to open on Beacon Street

Sunderland office building latest to be considered for South County Senior Center home

Real Estate Transactions: July 11, 2025

Conway becomes first in county to adopt nicotine-free generation regs

Greenfield Fire Lt. Taylor retires after 33 years

Your Daily Puzzles

Cross|Word

Flipart

Typeshift

SpellTower

Really Bad Chess

We were all extremely close when we were little. Our quality time mainly consisted of me, because I am the oldest, usually trying to break up fights between them by distracting them with candy. Or me pouting in the corner when one of the girls stole one of my favorite Barbies to play with. You get the point. They were essentially my part-time siblings. Because my dream of actually having a sibling wouldn’t be fulfilled until many years later.

This is another fun fact that most people do not know about me, unless you know me personally, because I tend to keep my family dynamics private. I have a little sister, who is eight years old. She is one of the absolute lights of my life and she has had me in the palm of her hand from the moment she was born. Because, while I’ve kind of always been an introvert, I always felt alone as an only child.

I remember when I was about five or six, I asked my parents for a sibling. Shockingly enough, my request wasn’t granted. And I recall being very disappointed about it at the time, because I had the idealized vision that my life would be so much better if I had someone around my age who understood everything about me and my life.

While I absolutely treasure the relationship I have with my little sister, it is inherently different from the relationships I have with my cousins. Because I didn’t share a childhood with her. I can’t bicker or fight with her like I can with them. And that’s not a bad thing, by any means. That disparity just exists.

While the scenery was absolutely breathtaking on Martha’s Vineyard, it is not the thing that I will remember most about this vacation. Even though things went blissfully smoothly after my chair decided to stop malfunctioning. I will remember the moments and conversations that I shared with them on the front porch and the quiet glow in the living room when everyone else passed out early.

Those quiet moments of acceptance felt like a reversion back to my childhood sense of self, who used to come to life when my cousins and all of their chaos would fly in through the front door. The me who would feel more whole in their chaos.

Gazette columnist Joanna Buoniconti is a freelance writer and editor. She is currently pursuing her master’s at Emerson College. She can be reached at columnist@gazettenet.com.