May 19, 2014

• Sorrow Upon Sorrow

  If you are very lucky, you have at least one aunt and uncle in your life who, as my brother so eloquently put it, are Aunt Mom and Uncle Dad. In my family, Aunt Mom was my mom’s sister and Uncle Dad my dad’s brother, and they just happened to be married to each other.  Uncle Jerry and Aunt Wilma (called Aunt Willie by her precocious adopted brood) have played the role of Mom and Dad to scores of people besides their own children; their kids’ friends, friends’ kids, nieces and nephews, neighborhood children, church kids, second cousins once removed, and pretty much every last person with whom they’ve ever come in contact.

  When I was a teenager, Aunt Willie took my younger siblings and me and put us together with her four kids and made us a singing group. We called ourselves The Seven Ups and occasionally sang at church. Mostly, we just had a lot of fun getting together and rehearsing. For a year or so, we lived in the same small Arkansas town and my four double-first cousins, two younger siblings and I went to the same school. We cousins were always at each other’s houses and I don’t think the residents of that town (and I suspect the school administration as well) ever figured out which kids belonged to whom. Not that it mattered; my parents were the Aunt Mom and Uncle Dad for my cousins, and if any of us misbehaved, a phone call to any of the parents would get us in trouble.

  When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I enjoyed shedding my strong German ancestry and celebrating my less dominant Irish heritage every March 17th with the wearing of outrageous hats, tee-shirts, and any green thing I could find back in the late 70s and early 80s. Since that time, Aunt Willie has sent me a St. Patrick’s Day card nearly every year, often accompanied by a St. Patrick’s Day scarf, beads, book, or other green frippery.

  Aunt Willie and Uncle Jerry went through more pain than most parents ever will. They buried their youngest child, Susie, in November, 1975. They buried their second-youngest child, Diane, in August, 1976. Their son Mike passed away two months ago. Saturday morning, Aunt Willie, my Aunt Mom, passed away in her sleep. It has been almost beyond bearing as a niece and a cousin to witness the grief of my aunt, uncle and cousins at each unexpected blow. I will be returning to Arkansas soon for another family funeral, just two months after the last one. As devastated as the rest of the family is, I cannot imagine the grief Uncle Jerry, my cousin Gary, and Mike’s wife and daughters are feeling.

  I know Aunt Willie, who loved singing so much, would have greatly enjoyed hearing the barbershop chorus I joined last year. One of the songs we sing is called Irish Blessings and because of all those years of St. Patrick’s Day cards and gifts, I’ve always thought of her when we sing it. (I can’t figure out how to embed a video in this version of Xanga so here’s a link to the YouTube video.) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XafIws0vwtE

  I am not linking this post on Facebook because I don’t want the comments to be filled with expressions of condolences to me. I am sad, but the condolences need to go to the husband, son, daughter-in-law and granddaughters Aunt Willie left behind, not to me. They are the ones who, just a few weeks ago, buried a son, brother, husband and father. I am just the niece who moved away and didn’t keep in touch like I should have; who thought Aunt Willie and her cackling laugh and her St. Patrick’s Day cards and trinkets would always be there; who didn’t appreciate fully how big a place she had in my life until one day she was suddenly gone.

  Godspeed, Aunt Willie, until we meet again.

  

  May the road rise to meet you,
  May the wind be always at your back,
  May the sun shine warm upon your face,
  The rain fall soft upon your fields.
  And until we meet again,
  May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

  • 9:12 am
  • 6 Comments