Aunt Doris
Ciocia Tina
It's been a sorrowful year as I lost my Aunt Doris, my mother's sister, in May, and Ciocia Tina, my dad's sister, yesterday.
With Doris' passing, this means my mother is the only one left in her immediate family; Tina's passing means that my father's immediate family is now gone. Generationally, all that is left are widows/widowers: Uncle Jerry, who was Tina's husband; Uncle Stan, who was married to Aunt Doris; and Aunt Donna, who was married to Uncle Bob, who died back in 2011. Nonnie and Uncle Bill both died within a few years of each other.
There was a horrible situation where technology failed me, as the message I got from my mother's phone translated as "Hi, your mom just died. Talk to me..." after I had missed calls from my sisters and Dave; for about 10 horrible minutes yesterday, I thought my mother had passed.
So I know how I will react when I get that news. Typing this a day later, my stomach still hurts.
These losses make me feel like both a child and an adult. There's a shift in the universe, where I feel like my generation is stepping onto the on-deck circle, ready but not ready to take on the ultimate leadership role. I'm also getting nostalgic, thinking back to those moments when I was a kid, just one of the cousins hanging out in the kitchen for a sandwich and a glass of Kool-Aid, waiting to go outside or down to the basement to play.
My memories with Aunt Doris are sparse, as she married my Uncle Stan and moved to Texas in the mid-70s. Memories are of her living in the big blue house up the street from where we lived. I thought the house was the ultimate in luxury, as it had a sewing room, a hallway leading to different rooms, a second bathroom, and a laundry chute. But I thought the house in East Jackson was more fun, with a big hill to roll down and lots of neighborhood kids to play with. My cherished memory was of the blue denim jumper she made for me when I was in kindergarten, where she went crazy with all the new stitches featured on her machine, with loopy red, yellow zig zags, and green waves.
When under Tina's care, there was a hands-off approach to minding us, allowing us to experience the freedom to be absolute brats to each other while playing kickball in the field behind the house or making our audition tape in the red playhouse, singing Bruce Springsteen's "Fire" into a black cassette deck and microphone.
There was always a gift on birthdays or at Christmas, usually money, giving me the freedom to choose something for myself or tuck it away when I would need it later. My ever-responsible father would usually take it to deposit it into our savings accounts for later. I may not have appreciated it then, but now, as I am typing, I realize that nest egg slowly accumulated, and the $10 saved from my 12th birthday was part of the deposit I put on our first house, having drawn that money from my Kelsey Hayes Credit Union account back in 1997.
Then I remember the Christmas break trip to Lansing, where the aunts gave each of us $10 for the Chuck E Cheese arcade after having taken us shopping and to the movies. While I had a good time, I also remember wishing, after dumping quarter after quarter into Pac-Man and Paperboy, that I had the $10 back.
Or the time a substitute teacher insisted I had to ride the bus, mistaking me for the other Melissa in our class. I had a deep desire to ride the school bus and was more than happy to obey. My mother, frantic that I was nowhere to be found, called for everyone to help her find me. My aunt said she would be over as soon as she got Brian off the school bus. Welp, she found me, waving goodbye to her and Brian as the bus pulled away. That resulted in her running after the bus, Brian in tow, all while pregnant with my cousin Kevin.
I imagine my father has already greeted you in heaven, with a "What are you doing here, sis?"
When my mom visited her on Tuesday, Tina was weak, in pain, and I imagine, ready to join her immediate family again. I do wonder if there is joy in passing. She lost her father so young, barely a teenager, someone she hasn't seen in 65 years. When you die, is there a greater consciousness where you are a part of everything, or does God ease you into that, aware that the first thing you want to do in the afterlife is just see your family again?
I'll see you again, Aunt Doris and Ciocia Tina.
