Just as welcoming new lives is into our worlds each day when a baby is born, there comes a time when we have to bid farewell to those we love. When we enter our lives, we are “issued” two parents who make us possible and for many of us, we’re raised by those two individuals.
Others are raised by variations of parents—adoptive, or additional loved ones who live in the home where we are raised (older siblings, additional relatives such as aunts or grandmothers). Depending on economics and living conditions, some families house as many as three generations under the same roof as part of tradition or necessity. When children are present, they often grow up knowing they are loved comprehensively by a large number of people who are called their family.
Occasionally we encounter the statistical outlier—the person without a lot of family around them. Usually the older the person, the fewer family remembers around them it seems.
But one of the nicest parts of life is when your immediate world is expanded of additional people who don’t “have” to be there but who are brought in and introduced as “just like family” in your world. How they arrive can be a number of pathways, but the end result is the same. For the person who receives the extra love and attention from the “outsider,” it’s a bonus to adult or child to have yet one more advocate in their corner, rooting them on in life, one more person cheering at the baseball game or one more ear to hear a confidence or calm a troubled soul.
Although their presence is not truly necessary, it does have benefits to both parties to be an outsider. More often than not, especially in the south, if these outsiders are female they are known as “Aunt” inside the family, or “Uncle” as appropriate. They are invited to and included in holidays, celebrations, ceremonies marking rites of passage, and just regular family gatherings because they love seeing everyone.
Children in the south are often taught to address adults who are not family by names like Miss and Mister (sometimes Ms., depending on where you are). Speaking personally, I love being Miss Dawn Lee, Ms. Dawn Lee, or Aunt Dawn Lee to a host of children whose parents or grandparents have gifted me with the substantive time to get to know their children and the joy of watching them grow up before my eyes. And, I have a group of individuals whom, later in my life, I was fortunate enough to call “my” Aunts and Uncles.
For people who don’t know me well, they occasionally say, “It’s a shame you don’t have any family”—haha, yeah, no. Wrong. My cup runneth over. Oh, I do have a family on my very large family tree, even though I’m an only child—there are 25 of us who are first-cousins just on my mother’s side alone. She was one of eight children and yet, I was an only child. But we are all geographically scattered (as Grandma used to say) “from hell to breakfast.” I’m close to a few of the cousins, closer to some second cousins, and enjoy watching third cousins grow up via Facebook pictures and updates.
As an only child, however, except one aunt to whom I am still close, I grew up without aunts and uncles around me often enough to bring sufficient meaning to thinking I had any, even though I had seven of each on Mom’s side of the tree.
That is, until I was a mature adult at which point I was gifted with one of the richest inheritances of my life—the love of an extended family, an actual family by the way, complete with “just like” siblings, aunts, nieces, nephews, and grandparents! I was encouraged, rather than allowed, to address the seniors as “Aunt” and “Uncle” same as their “real” nieces. I was included at weddings, funerals, birthdays, graduations, and at hospitals when new generations were born. I often took photographs of the children’s first days on earth, starting in the hospital nursery, and I loved running to Eckerd’s and Walgreen’s (remember those days?) to get them developed and gifting the relatives with their photos. Over the years, I took photos at birthdays, Christmases, on and on.
Over the years, my career took me back and forth to Houston on consulting projects, and while I could choose to stay in Houston hotels, there were times when I’d stop and stay in a small Texas town in the country. This was home to Aunt Jean and Uncle Donald (and Aunt Dot and Uncle Aubrey and even before that, their beloved sister-in-law and brother-in-law, a third couple whose two families had married into each other some 50 years prior and whose ability to remain together, geographically and in their hearts found them as next-door neighbors almost all of their lives). It was unique, it was real, and I loved being with all of them, thanks to an adoptive sister who understood what I needed without my ever saying a word and she shared them with me unconditionally.
For more than 23 years, I was blessed with this family as “mine,” and I’ll never forget, when my Mom passed away, as people came filing into the church to be there “for me,” there was pew after pew after pew of members of that family, my extended family, who showed me their love that day, with their physical presence. I never felt alone for a minute. Everyone who knew how close my Mom and I were all of our lives seemed mystified at why I wasn’t falling apart when she died. And yet, all I had to do was look around and know that I was never alone.
It was just shy of 10 years ago, our paths changed and our schedules and some of my usual activities and hobbies changed. It’s the natural progression of things. As things were redirected I lost daily or weekly contact with “my family” and they with me. On the times and occasions that we reached out by phone to check in, the love was always there. It was never not there. And we ended each visit with a hug and a kiss and an “I love you” that still brings a smile and warms my heart.
Every time I get a piece of fine china out of my cupboard (for those of you who are laughing to think that every happens, think again! I do have them, and I do use them)…I remember Aunt Jean. One day en route home from a consulting trip (I’d stopped and brought back primo Houston BBQ for our dinner), I’d visited her and Uncle Donald in the beloved tiny town.
She said she’d found a fantastic “deal” for me at their annual town garage sale and wanted me to have them “for the future.” I told her I wasn’t putting them in my (No-)Hope Chest but that I was putting them into active duty immediately and that I loved them. The pattern was exquisite and classic and matched my taste to a proverbial “T,” as we say here.
The best part was traveling together—not to some destinations that you might call exotic, but every single one of them was one of the most joyous adventures I ever had the privilege of being included in, thanks to their “real” niece. Sometimes we drove a few hours away to a casino destination (and to visit more beloved extended family whom I got to call Aunt and Uncle times two or three), and we’d have the best time. The road trips were the best because we had conversations that were so fun, so funny, and reminiscing about some of our previous trips.
We talked of old times that, even on the ones I was never on, I was always made to feel like I’d been right there. The storytelling was so vivid, upbeat and I honestly think that some of my present-day skills that people (kindly) say I have for telling stories were shaped and colored by how I loved how they related history, family experiences, and were able to always find positives by which to place inside memories, good and bad alike.
One of the best times of my life was being in Las Vegas with the intention of hearing my favorite band, The Buckinghams, live in concert. I’d arrived early together with a high school friend and then local friends Pam and Mike were there for the wedding of their friend and to boot, I was lucky enough that my high school classmate Howard happened to be within driving distance that weekend and came over.
Then I drove to the airport to pick up the party of five, including Aunt Jean, who flew in to join my most important weekend—the concert. That evening, I had a table of 10 enjoying the concert of a lifetime for me and no exaggeration—if my life had ended that night for some obscure reason, I can truly say that I could have gone on to my next life with no regrets. But that was far from the end of the adventures with the extended family.
What was special about Aunt Jean is that she had an amazing recall for everything in my life that was important. Over the years she never forgot anything I shared with her, she kept confidences close, and she never failed to ask about the people she’d met in my life when she was in town and that was something truly special about her—that’s love…knowing who and what is important to you, even the small things that you hold close in your heart, not wanting to share them with the world…
We talked about music all the time—her daughter was just a few years older than I was and so we both had about the same record albums blasting all the time as we grew up years and miles apart from each other. I loved that she knew who some of my favorites were and she was as current as they come. She also loved sports—she and Uncle Donald were giant sports fans and enjoyed baseball, football, and even boxing. She was a major Houston Astros fan and I know she’d be pleased with many games I’ve seen this season. We loved discussing our favorite teams and players.
Constantly Seeking The Good in Others Leaves the Best Life Lesson
Perhaps it sounds absurd for me to go on and on about simple conversations of years ago but the reason I do is that in our present day and time, people seem to refuse to consider the best in people. They can’t want to point out a difference, a flaw, something that makes someone else lesser than, not as good as, or worse yet, to judge them by sight rather than finding out who they are first. Let me say that it is a rare gift indeed when you meet people who show you love first before they show you judgment.
Road trips grew to be annual to include “the changing of the leaves” each October; and as many of “the girls” as the Suburban would hold, we would travel throughout the New England countryside over, around, under, and through the most beautiful scenery God ever thought up. I took pictures when I wasn’t driving, and those memories fill my heart and my photo albums still today. Simply stopping on the side of the road for gas and goodies in a convenience store. This cartoon sums it up, but the fun part was being a kid and being yourself.
All the girls knew I had a fondness for “circus goobers,” which are those yummy chewy orange peanut-shaped candies, and sugared jelly beans, and they loved to tease me about my um….obsession over ice. Not just one kind of ice—all kinds of ice. They used to tease me (when I was driving) as to where I was bound to stop (or not) because of “they have really good ice here!” as my justification. Love is—letting her stop the car wherever she likes their ice.
Long relaxing days on a chair outside, sitting and visiting about whatever topic traveled by was such a joy. We all loved outdoor farmer’s markets and finding the bonanzas along various roadside locales (north and south alike) was such fun. Who had the best corn, the best tomatoes, and squash meant that we were going to enjoy some major league vegetable dinners that night.
The travels are over, those days are safely tucked away in the rearview mirror, fondly, for future reference when I need to smile. One of the best things about Aunt Jean was her devotion to her family, real and extended, and she was fortunate at a very early age to meet her kindred spirit and husband, Donald. Throughout the many, many years of her life they were a dedicated duo—did so many things together that you could blend their names — Jean’n’Donald — and you knew when one loved you, the other did, too. I was fortunate to meet them after they’d retired from their careers and they’d worked hard and saved carefully for the future. So I had the best gift of all —their time and their love and interest. I was one of many in their extended family of course, but I did love them.
At Christmas time I get out my decorations and some special ones are from Aunt Jean and Aunt Dot, who always thought of me at holidays. Every year at their annual rummage sale, the ladies quilting guild auctioned off (for tickets raffled) a handmade quilt that they made each year. These quilts were prized and gorgeous. Anyone lucky enough to have a Southern handmade quilt knows exactly what I’m describing. Every year for five years I bought tickets in hopes of winning. Finally, Aunt Jean and Aunt Dot decided I needed to “win,” and the two of them made me my own quilt! I was blown away to receive it and I prize it to this day. My home was filled with gifts of love like that over two decades.
For anyone who thinks it is necessary to locate a five-star property with limited clientele to call it heaven on earth has never just basked in the calm and peace of people who don’t have a mean bone in their bodies—who find a faith in God to get them through some of the worst challenges and time in their lives. Aunt Jean was in her 80s and in a regular Sunday School class and worship service with the energy of a 20-year-old, together with her sister-in-law, Aunt Dot. Another joy was driving about 2 hours to worship at the church they all belonged to there in a bigger city about 20 miles from the tiny town they lived in. The light in Jean’s heart emanated from her beautiful spirit. It’s surreal to think of her as not being here anymore. Logically, of course it was time, and she was not able to enjoy life anymore, so okay, it was appropriate. But she was so wonderful about offering encouragement when I was hitting the walls sometimes in my challenges. She believed in me and that meant everything.
About a month ago, I had had Aunt Jean on my mind and heart almost daily. I remembered her birthday and though I didn’t do anything about it (her condition had been such that she would not recognize a card from me to know me). Although it had been a year since I’d seen her in person, there wasn’t a week that went by that I didn’t think of her. I kept wondering how she was but somehow I was too scared to call her nephew and niece and ask them, her caregivers, how she’d been doing. I was afraid I would hear that the end was near. And I wasn’t prepared to accept that reality, as if my preference, wish, or prayer had a flying fig to do with it.
Every day I promised I’d call and check, but I also remembered that they’d promised to let me know if something happened…so I just got busy and went on with life. Until I just couldn’t stand not knowing. As I’d feared, the answer was that indeed she had passed away, the day after her birthday…she’d made it one day past when she was most on my mind and memory.
Per her specific wishes, there was no formal service. That’s one thing that she was about—not wanting anyone to make a fuss over her. She was buried together with her beloved Donald and I’ll be paying my respects as fast as I can get there. People don’t stop to think that the rest of us left here need closure, we need to come together to reflect, share, remember when, and hug each other who are left that the love, time, and earthly memories they shared with us in better times meant something special to us. I’m glad that I was able to tell her during her lifetime what her friendship had meant to me.
While it’s sad it took me so long to find out that she was gone, it’s also as normal as the days in May—life gets busy. People deal with the passing of loved ones in different ways. Grief manifests itself in so many different ways as I have come to learn the past seven years especially. I won’t be as pompous as to say I’ve seen it all, but I have experienced and walked the paths of many people who have shown me there is no one right or wrong way to grieve. We all try and find a home base and center to return to, so that we can restart our lives and go forward without the presence of a key loved one in our lives any longer. Our responsibilities and schedules change and it can be so unsettling. The older we get means absolutely zero guarantee that we do “better” with grief than someone younger. There is no exact formula or correlation for recovering from grief.
The best we can do for each other is just be genuine, present, and happy in one another’s lives for as long as we can be, for as long as we are invited in, and for as long as our minds allow us to be considerate of what others need or want in their lives. Love never dies. When we lose extended family, it hurts like “the real thing” but tomorrow and tomorrow after and every day after that, we can be inspired by our extended family to reach out to those who might need an extra aunt or uncle in their lives to just listen, love, care, and be there, keeping it real, to sustain us through the uncertain times ahead. God bless you, Aunt Jean, and thank you for loving me, along with all your “real family.” You are the best!
