Auntie Mary

There they sat, sun kissed around a 70’s formica table, salt water creating crispy curls in their hair. The scent of tanning oil wafted through the outdated beach rental. The shag carpet was recently vacuumed, and by recently I mean, at least seven times. The furniture rearranged, dusted, lysoled, and dusted again. The ashtray was filled with Marlboro lights, all with red lips permanently imprinted on their papers. Towels hung over the balcony to dry, a tv in the bedroom creating background noise and sending flashes of light down the hall. Tears streamed down their faces, silent laughter shaking their bodies, UNO cards scattered on the floor. There she sat – mascara running down her cheeks, the corners of her Revlon stained red lips almost touching her ears. She never failed to get the last laugh, the hardest laugh, the rawest laugh, and the most joy watching her audience.

My Aunt Mary. My oh my, was she precious to me. She was the queen of sass, brutally honest to her core (savage as the kids say), always a full face of makeup, at least two precious stones on her fingers, peppermint flavored Extra gum, marlboro lights mixed with some Reds, a can of lysol, and a comment about everything. She was never a distant aunt, an old aunt, a crotchety aunt…she was my immediate family. At times I wondered if my cousin and I were switched at birth – I have Mary’s auburn hair, petite frame, eyelashes for days, and precision with a makeup brush. She could never offend me, she loved in her most unique way, and she was a pillar of my childhood and adolescence. She taught me about makeup, skincare, to assume every surface was once touched by someone’s dirty foot or butt, and she taught me how to find humor in just about everything. Her life wasn’t always smooth, but she was a survivor, she was scrappy as hell, and I adored her, every.single.bit of her.

This precious human being left our temporary world for one eternally filled with joy, laughter, and zero pain and suffering. She leaves behind an equally fierce daughter, two priceless grandsons, a gentleman who loved and cared for her over multiple decades, five younger siblings, multiple nieces and nephews who thought the world of her, and a sweet pup named Jacque.

I Love you Auntie Mary, with all my heart. I am so grateful you no longer suffer, I am thankful you are whole, being made new in every way. I can hear your laugh in my head and pray I never lose it. Kiss kiss hug ❤ 12.3.2018

All the feels

We went back east a couple weeks ago – we walked into all things familiar. My hair instantly frizzed upon exiting the airport, my ears were assaulted by car horns and sirens, and my nostrils filled with bus exhaust. It was oddly comforting. Every face looked and sounded the same and the hugs, although tighter and longer, felt the same. There were a few eerie moments – moments we were reminded that life has moved forward for everyone even if ours stopped back in 2015. It is entirely out of self preservation that we are here, this space of alienation. It has allowed us to function with little emotion and skirt by these last two years without crumbling. I recently read in an amazing [read: FREAKING AMAZING!] book that the first year of grief you walk along numb and unattached [check!]. The second year, all the shit you pushed down down down begins to surface. Not just a twinge here or there – more like bursting into hysterics because you can’t get the ice tray to crack, or screaming at inanimate objects for running into you when in fact they are in the same spot they’ve always been. My heart is colder than most so I’ve stretched it out an additional year. I rarely cry too which means my hysterics involve throwing things [like ice trays], cursing in patterns that make little sense, and kicking dressers that jump out of nowhere. To describe an ache for something, something you never really had is the most difficult thing. The yearning is powerful, it can be a monster dragging you down and around emotions you once thought hidden or absolved.

I once wrote how the dichotomy of death and life existing at once and altogether shared, is…surreal. It’s changing us – it’s changing our world and relationships. Relationships come and go – some run dormant for years only to be picked back up when needed most – it is all part of our story. The pain we experience, the ache of loss whether in relationship or in death – is an ache to explore. We chase moments and memories and seek familiar feelings but in a new reality. Every day is an opportunity to accept a new set of circumstances and be honest with ourselves, honest about the raw feelings, honest about the fear and the what ifs. There is always hope – there is always the idea that someday, even if we’re 80, loss and the reasons why, will finally make sense.

I think these last two years have made us homesick – not for a place but for the people that make a place, home. We realized we are parched – emotionally speaking. The amount of love that rained down on us in Maryland was incredible – we were watered and cared for and every last bit of us, dusted off. We left, our souls filled to the brim. Even the briefest of conversations left their mark and we are so thankful for our friends and family back east. You all know how to make two worn out people feel loved and missed in the most epic ways.

“it’s the tragedy of loving, you can’t love anything more than something you miss.” – Jonathan Safran Foer