My husband’s great uncle died today. He was in his 80′s. My daughter said (in a very sad way) “that’s three!,” and I had to think about it. She’s right, first there was Uncle, then Aunt Joan, and now Uncle Roy. The other day they told us he was in hospice (which he wasn’t, actually) and my daughter broke down in tears. Nine year olds shouldn’t understand hospice.
My kids are really learning the ins and outs of grieving and loss. Sucks.
For those of you sick to death of me and my Joan stories, please bear with me for one more post. I’m hoping this one might be worth it.
One of Joan’s “things,” I guess, was that she loved chili. One of her other “things” was that you always have a beer with your chili, because they just go together. So that’s what she did, more often than not. After the memorial service, we went to a local pub that had an outdoor area, and we had a small spread with both chili AND beer. In memoriam, if you will.
While eating, I was explaining to my kids the significance of and why we were having chili, and they were wondering why on earth Aunt Joan would want to always have it with beer. I think I must have blacked out for a minute, because against all of my better judgement I gave each of my children a tiny sip (please take pity on me for making this decision, I swear I was out of my mind and my husband had left me alone with the children in error) of beer with their bowl of chili. A sip!! Not even a mouthful, I swear. Both of my kids declared it to be disgusting, and stated they couldn’t imagine why anyone would think it went with ANYTHING.
Afterwards, I swear I could see their wheels turning; probably rethinking of all the things Joan ever said to them with new eyes.
This past weekend, my girl CC (on the right, the one with the beer, in case you were unsure…) had a soccer practice with a final team party afterwards at the coaches house. For each of the girls, the coach said something nice about their performance, and gave them a little printed certificate. When it was CC’s turn, he referenced a running joke between them about her hustle needing some coffee sometimes. My littlest dear stood up and replied “Or a beer! I could have a beer! My aunt said that nothing goes with chili like beer, so I had one at her memorial service.”
Uh………………
To a room of people who are complete strangers, who already think I’m a crazy uninvolved soccer parent because I don’t respond to their two hundred emails a day, and who apparently have no sense of humor, because you could have heard a pin drop. Not even that “oh kids say the darndest things” nervous, uncomfortable tittering. Dead.Fucking.Silence.
I’m pretty sure they were all busy thinking about how thankful they were that they didn’t serve beer at the party. Or chili for that matter.
I loved this little thing that my cousins did for my Aunt Joan’s burial. It’s always the little things that are so touching, isn’t it? Each of her three daughters wore one…
I wish I could have gotten the three together, but it turned out to be impossible. It was difficult, walking the line between wanting to capture the moment and feeling disrespectful of the circumstances. I did enjoy taking this one shot, though. Such a fun idea on a sad day, Joanie would’ve liked it.
Dearest Wendy’s,
Remember that Karaoke promotion you were running a few weeks ago? You know, the one where you gave the kids a karaoke sampler CD in their meal? I just had to send you a big ol’ THANKS for that one, Wendy’s.
Why, oh, why would you sell the ENTIRE SET to just anybody off the street? Shouldn’t there be some sort of restrictions to prevent adult males from purchasing your children’s toys? Just sayin’. Think about it, Wendy’s. You didn’t even require that my husband take any food with it!
Thanks to your “toys,” my nine year old has been walking around humming Gloria Gaynor for weeks now. I just picked up on it today, after hearing it dozens of times but never quite being able to put my finger on what song it was. My son has been turned on to Peaches & Herb. Shake Your Groove Thing? Really, Wendy’s? They’ve taken to criticizing Marvin Gaye, because when isolated his vocals aren’t quite as good as you’d expect, but they can sing Rockwell’s one hit from start to finish. It’s kind of sick, really.
Tonight they were watching a series of YouTube videos of the Marvelettes, Kool & the Gang, and Debarge. NO, they didn’t get it from me. I gave up on Debarge when they sucked it at Milwaukee-fest in the 80′s, thankyouverymuch. I almost did a spit take when they accidentally listened to Michael Mcdonald’s rendition of Ain’t No Mountain High Enough; just because someone else was singing it on your CD doesn’t mean your hands are completely clean on that one either, Wendy’s.
Shit, my son just broke out in some crappy Belinda Carlisle from the other room. I think we’ve hit rock bottom. Seriously. I’m going to go find an ice pick to take care of my pesky eardrums right now and be done with it. You sell food that is killing me slowly, and now you serve it up with a little Killing me Softly. WTF, Wendy’s?
Praying you don’t release a Country version,
Becky
Yesterday was the memorial service for my beloved Aunt Joan. I wrote and read a eulogy about our relationship at the service. It was hard, and I feel like I struggled through it, but I loved her so much and I was glad that I did it. Today is the burial, and I expect it to be just as hard. It is the end in a long, painful process. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to post my eulogy, but in the end I decided that I wanted to share my aunt with everyone because she was SO important to me, as she was to all of us. If I didn’t do it today, I don’t know that I could go back and read it again to do it later. Tomorrow I have to start healing.
I have to send a thank you to my dear old friend Juli who came to support me and my family in our grief. We have been friends since the first day of fourth grade. It meant a lot to have her there.
FOR JOAN
My name is Becky, and technically Joan is my aunt, and although I don’t know that the term “aunt” really does justice to the relationship we had, I’d like to share some of my memories of Joan and our time together. This is probably one of the hardest things I have ever wanted to do.
When I was a child, my mother and I lived with Joan for a time. It was Joan who wrecked my hair for the first time with a home perm in her kitchen in Hanover Park. We logged hundreds of hours together working on puzzles at the kitchen table. She taught me that with daily vacuuming, shag carpet can last forever. She helped me understand that if I would just stay calm, I could get my head unstuck from the spindles of her railing as easily as I had gotten it stuck, even though I wasn’t supposed to be upstairs. She almost always had a kiddie pool filled up on the back patio, but she didn’t always treat me like I was just a kid. I felt important to her, and she was certainly important to me.
She was the one who ensured that I would never be a good vegetarian by teaching me how to cook the perfect steak dinner, and even though she detested fruit, she would often make me Jello for dessert. You knew she meant it when she served it in the champagne glasses that she had tipped just so in the refrigerator and layered with Cool Whip. I’m pretty certain that the whole process of making those was horrible for her, but it made me feel special.
She was quick-witted, easygoing, a great conversationalist, and always easy to laugh.
When Joan’s mother Kate died, my grandmother, it was Joan who reached out to me in my grief. She offered to stand in as my grandmother. And she did, in a great way, which is something I have always been grateful for. She and Grandma Kate can work it out amongst themselves who did a better job in that regard.
She was beautiful, inside and out.
As I got older, things changed, but we only got closer. When I had a problem, there was no one I would rather talk to than Joan. I always knew that I would get an honest opinion, even if it was “Well kiddo, I just don’t know what to tell you.,” she listened without judgment or criticism, she kept all of my secrets, and she never betrayed my trust.
She wanted me to name my kids Jonah. Both of them.
She bummed her extra long, extra skinny cigarettes to all of us at one point or another, but would never let me return the favor because my standard sized cigarettes “hurt her fingers.”
She told me that my kids were cute, and told my kids that their dog was ugly.
She was my rock, my confidante, sometimes my partner in crime, and always my friend. I’m sure many regarded her in the same way.
She gave good advice. In fact, the only bad piece of advice I ever got from Joan is that everyone should go blonde, and unfortunately I even took it. I’m certain my mother made the same mistake.
She ensured that “Well, I’ll be damned!” and “Oh shit.” are a regular part of my vocabulary. And of course my children’s, as well.
She made leopard print look fabulous, and she helped me fall in love with the color blue.
Whether we were doing something as mundane as watching the security cameras on the TV at her apartment or something a bit more exciting like enjoying a day at the track, time with Joan was always time well spent.
Every time I saw Joan, every time I talked to her on the phone, I would be certain to tell her that I loved her, and just as certain was her quick response “Yep, alright.” Towards the end she did tell me that she loved me, too, but those were just words. I already knew that she loved me. From the thousands of times that she took my hands, the way she looked into my eyes when she spoke to me, the kindness she showed to me again and again, her complimentary nature towards me, and later also towards my husband and children, but mostly in the time that she gave to me.
Joan was wonderful, she meant the world to me, she is irreplaceable, and I miss her already.
My three biggest influences; Mom, Grandma Kate, Aunt Joan
There have been some tough times in my family of late. First, I just want to thank everyone once again who has been so kind, so understanding, so supportive. I know that eventually I will heal, and I hope I won’t be Debbie Downer forever.
In the meantime…
I love this man. I never give him enough thanks, but he is what is keeping me from drowning right now. In my darkest days, in my worst moods, in my most horrible circumstances he is always there, always supportive, always consoling, always holding me up when all I want to do is crumble. I can never describe fully how he shines in the darkest of times or what he does for my spirit. I am overwhelmingly lucky that we chose each other.
It’s been a bit of a downer afternoon. My son and I got into an argument (when I was trying to be encouraging), after he was cut from the district meet in track because he wasn’t one of the top three in his event. I don’t know exactly how you end up fighting over encouraging words, but somehow it came down to “I’ll be damned if I’m paying $5,000 for braces so that you can knock your teeth out playing hockey!!” Because, of course I never let him do what he wants to do, and he just wanted to play football or hockey, and everything is just bad and wrong, and it’s clearly my fault. Because we really hold him back. And yes, you read it right, it started with track and ended with hockey. Go figure. When we got home, he stormed off to the other end of the house and has been avoiding me since. Love the teen years.
On Saturday, we had a bit of a better rapport when I was watching him “extreme skipping” at the skate park. Because skipping is not a crime.
What a little shit, I love him so much. Why can’t they ever see all the gifts they possess? Track might not be his calling, but this skipping thing could really pan out. He’ll still have to watch those teeth, though. Skipping looks like it can be tricky. Maybe I should suggest a helmet? With a mouth guard, of course. That should go over really well. I’m not 100% certain, but tonight might not be the best night for it, considering he has been able to avoid me for four hours so far and counting. If he gets wind of the mouth guard, he may join the circus.
Bright and early my boy and I went to the Orthodontist today! Crazy (to me), but he was excited to get braces. Of course, he also cried when they said he had perfect eyes and couldn’t get eyeglasses. That was many years ago. My husband did let him roll off of the bed one time when he was a baby, who knows if it rattled his brain just a bit.
Such beautiful golden locks he has. Sorry, I got distracted.
Not at all nervous. He didn’t even care that I told him about a THOUSAND times that I’ve heard it hurts. Because, you know, my teeth aligned themselves perfectly without the encouragement of braces, so I wouldn’t know. That’s the rumor around town, though. I even went so far as to remind him that his teeth might do the same and fix themselves, in case he wanted to change his mind. I couldn’t convince him though, so he went through with it.
I thought he might have some second thoughts when they made him put on protective eye gear just for the polishing, but he was steadfast in his decision. Of course, he didn’t have to write that check at the end, either, or sign legal contracts or any of that business. He refused to look at me for any of the in-process photos because I was, like, TOTALLY embarrassing him. As if no one else’s mom ever brought a camera in with them.
Who willingly asks for someone to put this stuff in your mouth? I think that we have some of those tools at home for electrical work or something. It all looks sorta scary to me. See that clear thing? They put that in his mouth, but I was strictly forbidden from taking photographs of him with that in his mouth. I did it anyway, because of course he couldn’t yell at me with it in there, and he couldn’t reach me to knock the camera away, but I have been strictly forbidden from sharing them with ANYONE. I accidentally told the receptionist that I would post my pictures on the Orthodontist’s facebook page for them on the way out. He almost bitch slapped me. Of course I would never do that, I was distracted by the large check that I was writing and started talking out of my head.
Anyhow….
While they were working, they kept telling him that the glue tube was NOT a shot (on the left there, they do look shot-ish). This kid doesn’t care if you give him a thousand shots in his mouth so long as he gets braces out of the deal. Now, immunizations… that’s another story. Don’t touch that kid’s arm. Seriously, there’s an off chance he might strike you. OK, he would never strike anyone. But he still doesn’t take it quite as well.
Dang. Even in fluorescent lights his hair is fabulous. We’ve been told that by his next appointment in July his teeth will be fabulous, as well. Besides, this happy smile makes it worth every penny!
Yes, of course I have to post about my Mother’s Day holiday. I am a mom, a daughter, a grand-daughter, and of course a favorite niece (wink, wink… hey Joanie! love you!). I did a lot on Sunday. Why? Because we call my daughter CC the Relentless. That girl gets it in her head that we need to do X, Y, and Z, and dammit we’re gonna squeeze it all in or there will be HELL TO PAY. For Mother’s Day, CC decided that we would fish.
And so of course we fished!
All I can say is THANK GOD my husband deals with the worms, because this part was bad enough.
But I can be a pretty good sport, right?
And so can Grandma! She didn’t have to do any of the gross stuff, but she was nice enough to come fishing with us.
She engaged in more of the fun, relaxing stuff on the lakeside. I like fishing and cloud animals much better than manual labor, which was apparently the next item on the agenda.
Because, you know, the girl wants a garden! We had designated two whole sections of the landscaping to CC and her PLANS. One down, one to go. FYI, I’m gonna have a line on a serious crop of tomatoes this year, among other things!
At least she was helping me! And in the end, it’s all wonderful and I am richly rewarded with something wonderful like this…
In addition to all of the hugs, kisses, laughs, conversation, and time spent as a family.
