On February 18th, 2011, my Aunt Ree passed away. Her given name, Rose Marie, was only used by those outside the family. To all of us…she was simply Ree.
It had a been a couple of months or so since I had last seen Aunt Ree. She had been here for a visit and I spent a few hours with her and her husband, Uncle Jay. Far too short of time, had I known what was to come. What struck me during that visit, was that Aunt Ree still referred to me as “Chuckie”, a nickname given to me instead of “Little Chuck” due to my father and I having the same first name. She and my uncle, I thought, were the only people that still referred to me that way. No one else has called me that since I was a very young man. I remember at the time cringing a bit, thinking of the “never going to be grown up to them” feeling I had when I heard it. But, it was just a moment and it passed.
Her death was a shock to everyone. She had been having a pain in her hip that she apparently down played and had scheduled a doctors appointment for the end of the month. On the Tuesday before her death, she called the doctor to see if they could move up her appointment. They told her there were no openings and that she was to wait until the scheduled day. When she asked what she was supposed to do about the pain, the receptionist told her; “Make sure you show up for your appointment.”
Apparently the pain in her hip was caused by an infection that had probably been there for awhile. On Thursday, she was visited by a daughter in law, who is also a nurse, who saw that her color wasn’t good. After checking and finding her blood pressure to be very low, an ambulance was called and she was rushed to the hospital. Medications to correct her pressure and make her comfortable were given. At this point, some optimism was allowed to grow in her immediate family. Her color had returned and she seemed to be doing better, but the pain grew much worse. Within hours it was learned that the infection in her hip had spread throughout her body, making her septic. She had multiple organ failure…her body was shutting down to try and save itself, killing her in the process. Before the sun rose on Friday morning, she was gone.
The shock ran through our family like an earthquake that shook the very foundation of support system. A death after a prolonged illness is painful and we never seem to be ready for it, no matter how long the person may have been ill. But, a death that comes out of no where….that shocks everyone…seems to cause not only the pain, but the confusion, the anger, and the unsettled nature that sends everyone….from the epicenter of the immediate family to the friends and extended family…spinning out of control in a funnel of shock.
We…my mother, my sister; Nadine, and myself…left for Roanoke early Sunday morning…going straight to the funeral parlor…arriving just in time to participate in the private family viewing. With barely enough time to hug the grieving, we were ushered into the small, but beautiful chapel. The cries ahead of us were agonizing. It took this moment for it really to sink in to all of us. My mother almost collapsed a couple of times. Her legs just didn’t seem to want to support her. Kneeling next to the casket, I looked into a face I barely recognized. She seemed so swollen that the pain that she must have suffered was evident. My heart simply broke.
The next few hours is a blur of emotion and tears. I remember hugging my uncle and his children…my Aunt Carol and her husband and daughters, my father and other two sisters who arrived around 6pm. I don’t know that my head really cleared until we left the funeral home that night after arriving for the public viewing. My parents, all my sisters, and myself then went to dinner…the first time that the six of us have sat at the same table…just us…in more than twenty years. I honestly can’t remember the last time. It was a strange and yet comforting feeling that washed over me while sitting at that table. We talked about everything other than the reason we were all gathered there. My father seemed to be glazed…floating through the whole event…lost in his own thoughts.
My parents, divorced for many years, have known each other since they were in grade school. My father and my Aunt Ree actually dated before he dated my mother. She was a true sister to him. And the loss of one of his best friends was written all over his face…floating through his hazel eyes.
After dinner, my mother and Nadine went to the home of the estranged wife of one of my cousins to spend the night. I met my father and other two sisters at the Airport Marriot. We met in the lobby, where they each had a drink while I sucked on my Pepsi. Again, we chatted about things…anything…other than the reason for this sad reunion. We desperately tried to make each other laugh, probably with the realization that the funeral the next day may make sleeping difficult for all of us. After about a half hour, we all made it up to our rooms. Staying in a hotel room alone is probably in the top ten of loneliest things we do to ourselves. I have done it many times before, whether it be for vacations or business trips during my paralegal days. But, this stay…the loneliness just tore at me. I communicated with the love of my life, but found it hard to find words. I didn’t want to expose her to this pain…I wanted to keep her distant from seeing me this way again, but I so much wanted her with me. To have her hold me and comfort me. I know that if possible, she would have been right there. But, her voice and her gentle words were enough to send me into a short sleep. I woke up around four AM and read for a while. Fell back to sleep and woke up around 7:30.
The funeral mass was as moving and touching as any thing I have ever witnessed. The grandchildren spoke of their love and grief. Telling everyone had they would see her again when it was their time to go. Sitting in that church I felt the presence of God…but, also the presence of this amazing woman. Her and her husband had attended this church for almost thirty years. The words spoken of her by the priest and the monsignor spoke of a woman very involved in giving back to her parish. They spoke of her love of family and friends, not showing much difference in that love between those two groups. My aunt was a giver. It was mentioned how she carried shopping coupons in her purse, designated for certain people, her knowing the things they may need depending on the situation. That kind of consideration was her norm. She cared for everyone as if it was just second nature…what she was supposed to do…what she had to do.
The funeral procession from the church to the cemetery was the longest I had ever seen. There had to be over fifty cars. All of the streets and intersections during the 20 minute drive were blocked off by local police and sheriff departments….officers standing by their cars in salute. My cousin being a local officer, they force was well represented.
At the cemetery, the wind came up. The priest’s prayers were barely audible over the flapping of the awning above the gravesite. I couldn’t seem to take my eyes of the surrounding area. It took me a few moments to realize why. The next site was the a burial place of my grandmother…mother to my mom, my Aunt Carol, and …of course, Aunt Ree. I had been here 27 years ago to say goodbye to my grandmother and now I was back to say good bye to my aunt. The flowers from the chapel had been placed on my grandmother’s plot. Very poetic…very approriate. Two of the grandchildren released doves. I watched them fly quickly away. And then it was over. We all stood around trying to take in each other, to support and carry the pain and grief that we all felt.
The woman of the church and the local police department scheduled a luncheon at the church following. It was there that things seemed to start to mellow a bit. The first bits of laughter were heard as stories of my aunt and uncle were told. After 53 years of marriage, the stories were many and all very entertaining. Tears and laughter mixed together are a very odd combination. But, so made for each other. It was during this time that the first lifting of the grief started to take place.
After a brief rest, we made our way to the home that my aunt and uncle shared for almost 35 years. I had not been in this house in over twenty years. It had changed a great deal and was hard for me to get a sense from at first. But, a trip to the downstairs bathroom started the memories to flood in. The room, other than paint and wall paper, had not changed at all. As I walked out, the narrow stairs leading up to the second floor sent more memories to flood back. The basement, where we had spent so much time during our visits as kids was just a place I could not go. Sitting on the sun porch hearing my uncle telling his stories, my cousin Julieanne adding her parts, and my cousin Brian arguing the merits of all things Steeler caused the years to fall away. Suddenly I was twelve years old again. All that was missing was the smile, amazing laughter, and the hug of the missing woman of the house.
It was some where during this time that I realized that my uncle and my cousins were all referring to me as “Chuckie”. They didn’t know me as anything else. And the comfort I felt in that was amazing. I am not sure I can explain it and do it justice. But, there was something in the rareness and the nature of that address that almost brought me to tears a few times. I found myself going outside, with the excuse of a cigarette, to get my emotions back together and to wipe my eyes.
I didn’t spend as much time with my aunt as I would have liked. The fact that the younger two of her children and I seemed like strangers to each other breaks my heart now. I wish I would have done more to keep the connection…to have kept it closer. I have failed there, like so many other things in this life I have led. It will be a regret for the rest of my life, but one that I hope to keep from continuing. It’s what she would want. And I want to give that to her, if at all possible.
I want to end this by thanking those that sent their condolences and kind and comforting words. All of you, my friends….you mean so much to me and I appreciate your thoughts and prayers, as does my family. To Peggy, a new cousin in my life…thank you for opening up your home to three strangers and treating us with the love and gracious hospitality that only family seems to give. To you and your daughters, my thanks…and my prayers. You will always have family here….I hope you never forget that.
If I may beg your consideration for one more thing, please keep my Uncle Jay and his children in your prayers. After over a half of century of marriage, the loneliness he must feel has to be staggering. I hope that he feels the love around him and knows that he is not alone. We are here for him.
And, to my Aunt Ree…you amazing woman…I will miss you. I will never forget your unconditional love and prayers for me and all of my family. And I will always hear your voice when I am referred to as “Chuckie” from now on. And I will smile…and for a moment…I will be twelve again.
