Sad
My father�s youngest sister passed away last Tuesday morning. Her death was not unexpected�she�s been living with MS for a long time now. In fact, she�s been hanging on, living in a severely limited fashion (wheelchair, unable to walk, barely able to speak, unable to feed herself, and so on) for several years. She had numerous strokes and countless seizures. For the last few years, I believed it would be a relief for her if she died. People use the words pass away like it is nicer than died. But there isn�t such a thing as a nice way to say death. They use expected and unexpected like it makes a fucking difference in how you feel. The truth is this:
My aunt was thirty-six years old, only seven years older than I am. She was a dancer. She was a mother. She was beautiful and kind and funny and she lived her entire life for everyone else. I loved her immensely. And I�m pissed about how she had to spend the last decade of her life. There�s nothing to do with that anger, so it�s going here.
I�m angry that my aunt grew up in an environment that made her feel like the only way out was to marry a man who was never good to her. I�m angry that my relatives will probably talk about this man in an appreciative way because he�s now a widower. They�ll say that he didn�t run off when my aunt got sick. He did run off, though. He just didn�t leave town. He had mistresses and spent her Medicaid checks and ditched my aunt with my grandparents so he could have a life without responsibility. And it�s important to write this shit down because death shapes history. They wrote that her husband was her best friend in her obituary. They wrote that her true goal in life was being a mother. Her husband doesn�t deserve any revision. He�s a classic asshole. And my aunt was more than someone�s mom.
I�m sad that my grandparents have to deal with the death of their youngest child. My grandmother hasn�t slept in years because she checked on my aunt every hour, on the hour, through every night. She needed the rest, a break from the constant care my aunt required. I�m heartbroken that it had to come at the cost of my aunt�s life. I�m sorry that my father has to bury a sister; that his family is in so much pain. I�m sorry that my aunt�s daughter never really knew her own mother as a person, as the mother she would surely have been. I�m sorry that my cousin will be without all of the conversations girls need with their mothers�now, while she�s a teenager, and later, when she�s a woman. Those are irreplaceable moments.
And now, I�m going to have a margarita. The same kind my mother made when she was visiting last week: the extra strong variety. But one more thing: My parents are awesome. They are amazingly intelligent, loving, rational, open-minded people. My mother�s the kind of person who insists that I watch The Wedding Crashers and my father sends me monk-e-mail (if you don�t know, where have you been?). They�re kick-ass strong, too. If I had to pick between either of my parents and The Rock, my money is on my parents, people. No contest.
