Aunt Carolyn

 My dad called last night to tell me of the passing of my Aunt Carolyn and although it has been a number of years since I have been able to see her, my sister and I immediately made plans to get down there for her service.

She is not the Aunt you just send flowers for and say it's too far to travel. No, not for all she has been to me and all she has done for us.  Even if it had been decades and not just years since I had been able to see her.

My Grandma Cooper, her mother, passed when I was very young, 3 or 4 years old.  And when she passed, Aunt Carolyn quietly, without fanfare, became the matriarch of that side of the family. She wasn't loud nor bossy nor controlling, but without her, I'm rather certain Dad's side of the family would not have had the gatherings I remember so fondly that lent stability to a split-holiday childhood that comes with divorce.  The Thanksgivings and the Easters and the Christmases or just times at her house are memories that mean so much to me, I suppose because my Dad did not remarry for any length of time until I was 23 and so Aunt Carolyn was my female role model when we were with his side of the family.

She did not have a child of her own until Lori and I were 10, but we still had Easter Egg hunts at her home and the best red velvet cake you'll ever eat and wonderfully colorful Jello salads and beautifully, yet simply set tables that we all gathered around for our meals.  She made sure, along with my Dad, that we had wonderful kid-friendly holidays to remember. My memories of those meals are simple - perfectly baked ham at Easter, perfectly cooked peas that would pop (in fact, I wouldn't eat peas nor nearly any vegetable as a child, but I did at her house), iced tea in these heavy glass goblets that was simple and unsweetened and she'd make sure to ask us about how we're doing and actually listen while we ate.  We knew good manners were expected and it never took a raised voice to get them.

 She'd walk with us through her garden or yard, shake her head at her shy cats and her quiet humor was a wonderful foil for my Uncle Brent (her husband)'s humor when he would say things like "don't tilt your head while drinking your milk, it will come out your ear."  Her wonderful laugh and "now Brent..." warning would make me laugh. Something about Aunt Carolyn was just pure... safety, for me.  Also, she could sew like no one else.  In fact, thanks to her, although we had very little money, Lori and I had more clothes for our Barbie dolls than any little girl we knew.  Aunt Carolyn could sew the most beautiful, teeny, Barbie clothes.  My dolls were dressed for success I tell you.  She made dresses and coats and pants and skirts and shawls and wraps unmatched by anything you could find in a store.  I adored showing my friends my beautiful Barbie doll clothes.

My mother often said that, although I missed out on my grandma, I got a glimpse of her by getting to have my Aunt Carolyn in my life.  Apparently she was a lot like her mom.  She was an incredibly strong woman who didn't need to shout it from the rooftops, but just quietly and firmly lived her life.  She was a strong woman of faith but had no need to shout that either, nor force it on others, but to live it purely by example and felt no need to loudly judge or contradict, but instead to love.  If she ever disagreed with my choices, I wouldn't know, I don't know that she thought it her place to do anything more than love others and live her faith and beliefs by example.

She was a role model for me in many ways... I don't know that she knew that. She is the example I often kept in my head as my kids wanted to carve their own paths, particularly when it came to appearances.  Looking at her, one might be shocked to learn she fought for her daughter's right to dye her hair black at her Christian school.  Carolyn looked and often acted liked a throw back to another time, like maybe she should have been an adult in the 1940's or 1950's.  But she told me once, when I had kids of my own, not sure if I was already struggling or she had a sense I needed to hear it, about how the school said her daughter Shaneen couldn't have black hair because it looked too "goth" or "evil" or something.  Well, Carolyn told me she firmly believed that God looked at the inside, not the outside and went straight to the dress code and saw that it allowed natural colors.  She argued that black was most certainly a natural color as my mother, of Asian decent, has black hair, many girls at the school had black hair, so her daughter was going to have black hair and if black was evil, why would God allow anyone to be born with it.  She won the argument and my cousin got her lovely black hair.  And I sat in admiration of my incredibly strong Aunt who didn't make a huge deal of it at the time nor when she told me the story.  But in her quiet voice all the Coopers have (Cooper is her maiden name, she is my father's eldest sister) she matter of factly stated that she wasn't going to allow judgement at a school and within a faith that was supposed to teach the exact opposite.

Years ago, she and Brent had thought of leaving California and had talked about Oregon or Idaho.  I had selfishly wished for Oregon.  I had been up here for so long and sure wouldn't have minded having my Aunt close again.  She was easy to talk to, easy to laugh with and kindness personified.  They ended up staying in California.  In the same familiar house that carries all my lovely memories of her.

Lately my Aunt had gotten sick and unable to see, so the last time I was making travel plans she was unprepared for visitors.  It has been too long since I've seen her.  But that doesn't change the love and admiration I have for someone who took such great care of us, who was such a center for the family, who helped shape a lot of how I think one lives their faith and integrity.

Rest in peace Aunt Carolyn.  Give my love to Grandma, you'll get to see her again.

Be Careful What You Wish For - We Signed Up for This

 There was a time, when Jason and I first moved in together, when we all sat down to our first big dinner... all 6 of us, and the noise was deafening.  The boys are only two years apart, the girls only one year apart and because they get along great, dinner was noisy.  Like, crazy noisy.  Not ill-behaved, not rude, not fighting.  Just excited, laughing, sharing, chatter.  But to adult ears, trying to hear above the cacophony of whatever the heck the boys were discussing and whatever the heck the girls were discussing, it was pandemonium.  I remember smiling wryly at Jason and saying, "remember we signed up for this."  

This would have been about 7 years ago.  The girls would be 6 and 7, the boys 9 and 11.  I'd found a rental house large enough for us all, smack dab in the middle of their two schools as none of the kids wished to change districts and their other parents had remained in their old neighborhoods after the respective divorces.

There have been times, in these past years, as there have been loud voices, or squabbles or the general din of bodies shuffling in the "get ready for school" routines, or one too many "mom/Mariska where is my" followed by a day of work of "Mariska I have a question" to come home to more voices, that I have wished for silence.  Just some peace.  Well, you know the phrase "be careful what you wish for?"  I get it now.

Mike got Covid over a week ago and then the day he sent over William because William tested negative (we figured he would, he just had it in June) but had to keep Frog, things took an interesting turn.  Jason was strangely tired and by evening shivering.  And then WE tested positive.  Jayden hasn't had it, but he lives with us and had been traveling with Jason so we couldn't send him to Kelly's where Delaney already was because he might infect them.  And so began the great isolation.  I worked from home in my own space downstairs because having had it before it was mostly manageable with some Tylenol. Jason (who hasn't had it, but I had) slept a ton in another room downstairs because it hit him harder. William and Jayden lived upstairs in their rooms.  Mike and Frog lived at Mike's.  Delaney lived at Kelly's.  It's been like this since Tuesday.  All of us spread apart.

And the silence has been deafening.  Especially today.  

Today, I turned 49. I've never been a "please make a big deal out of my birthday" person, so it's not like that's why the silence was so awful.  But, you see, normally, all I ever ask for, is to spend it with the 5 people who live under this roof with me.  Jason, Jayden, William, Delaney and Frog.  That usually means taking off for a day at the coast just to be near the ocean, be together, relax and enjoy our family. It's all I usually ever want.  The 6 of us and the ocean.  That's my heaven.  That's my dream birthday.  Not a ton of attention, not extravagant gifts or dinners or big parties or exotic locations.  6 of us and some sand and water.  Whatever food we eat when we come home, be it take out, something Jason grills, whatever, I don't care.  

But at midnight, as I received the most beautiful text from Delaney, I already realized it would not be that kind of birthday and I cried.  I cried at how sweet her words were, how much I missed her and everyone together... and I cried at the sheer silence of my home.

I slept in today. Not really wanting to wake up.  And then I woke up horrifically sad.  Jayden had to work early and then was gone for a good chunk of the day.  William was upstairs asleep still in isolation mode.  Frog and Delaney were still at their other parents.  And the silence was awful.  I sat for a long while outside. listening to the waterfall in our pond, trying, unsuccessfully, not to cry.

You may think "woman, you are never going to make it as an empty-nester!"  The thing is, I'll be preparing myself by then.  And I'm not kidding myself, it will be hard.  I'll have some tearful moments.  I'll miss socks strewn about where they shouldn't be and conversations about memes and videos and shows and artists that Jason and I are clueless about.  I'll miss the noise and the pandemonium of realizing there are conflicting events.  But I'll KNOW it's coming.

This was unexpected.  A perfect shit storm of illness and isolation and weird circumstance that left me with an odd, odd birthday.  And so I was horrifically sad this morning.

Jason, god love him, masked up and muscled up and went and got the traditional birthday donuts, but my heart wasn't in it with no one to share.  But then Mike and Frog masked up and agreed we could all eat outside with lots of space and Jason muscled up some more and made us some eggs and fruit and we had a brunch - me, Jason, Mike, Frog and William.  Then,  Kelly let us have Delaney and Jayden came home and suddenly there were the voices and faces I love so much all together and the laughter rose and the noise level rose, even with everyone masked up and even with most of us still tired.  Jason even baked a cake and Delaney frosted it.  We summoned up enough energy for some rounds of the card game War.  We ate dinner again spread out outside.  And yes, we're all spread out in different rooms again tonight.  Masks on and exhaustion touching us earlier than normal.  

But we're together.  And it's not so quiet.  And I think next time, that little voice in my head dares say "I wish for a minute everyone would just leave me alone" I will tell that voice to go to hell and remember this week and remember waking up on my 49th birthday feeling horrifically sad and alone.  And I will remember how much my spirits lifted as my favorite people were all together as we ate the silly dinner I wanted (okay, I just wanted corn dogs, so we got burgers and dogs from a local place) and I'll remember my husband's hugs as he showed me the cake and my laughs with Frog and Delaney as we played War, and William's wry smile as he was beating me at cards and Jayden's excitement as he added a new fish to the pond.  And I'll remember that peace doesn't have to come with quiet, rather with contentment. 

"Remember we signed up for this," I said to Jason that first loud dinner.  I guess you could have also told us then to be careful what you wish for.  But in that case, wishing to blend our little families of 3 into one big family of 6 was nothing to "be careful" of because it's been the biggest blessing that I never saw coming.  As the kids grow up and fly with those beautiful wings, I know there will be some silence.  But for now, let's enjoy some noise.  Because it means there here with us.