My Aunt Jacquie–A Retrospective

Tags

appreciation, death, gratitude, grieving, Jacquie, loss, memories

When I took Mr. Perfect to meet my aunt Jacquie, after only a few months of dating, it wasn’t just because he lived in Chicago where she was and since I was in town for a visit I should pop in. It made it more convenient, but he would have had to meet her eventually. Many of the most important, the most pivotal moments of my life wouldn’t have been possible without her. She drove me a lot of places, literally and figuratively, whether at my insistence or hers, usually way too fast, but I always got there unscathed.

After Mr. P. introduced himself (during which Jacquie and her husband made fun of him). she looked him dead in the eye and asked him if we were having sex (not in those words). That’s Aunt Jacquie for you. She doesn’t tiptoe around anything. Mr. Perfect was shocked, but he rolled with it…and that’s a big part of why he’s still here. He impressed her, and that’s not as easy as you would think.

When I was in eighth grade I heard about Horizons Upward Bound and knew i had to go. I couldn’t let an opportunity to position myself so well for the future pass by. I didn’t have a ride to the bus stop, though, until aunt Jacquie volunteered. We circled a while and finally figured out it was a school bus–as it was leaving! Aunt Jacquie made her boyfriend chase the bus with her hanging out of the window and waving her arms, screaming “Hey, you forgot a kid!” She managed to get the bus to stop, I got to take my admittance tests and interview, and I got in to the summer program, and eventually Cranbrook Kingswood Upper School.

My dream was to go to the University of Chicago. I got to go there for one day, lol. After I applied, I went to interview. I can’t remember if it was necessary or not, but I wanted to see the school anyway, and I figured it would help my chances. By this time my aunt had married and moved to Chicago. She agreed to take me to see the school. It was a rainy, dreary, frigid November day when we went to see the school. The students weren’t too friendly, everyone looked angry, the campus had the look of some dreary corner of Cambridge, and I got soaked through, but we went, wandering in the bookstore, buying a U of Chicago sweater, watching people play soccer, listening to tour guide, after admissions guide, after admissions counselor, until we were blue in the face.

I decided to go to Purdue University. I went on the Greyhound to visit with my mother in the winter. I had to go back in the summer for Day on Campus, to register for classes and such. My father was supposed to take me, but miscommunication and general bad disposition and feelings got in the way of that. Aunt Jacquie told me to take the Greyhound to Chicago and she would take me to day on campus. I was there for two weeks. After riding down a Chicago one-way the wrong way somewhere between Rainforest Cafe and Oprah’s studio at 4a.m., and getting stuck in rain storm after traffic jam after rainstorm, after having to take a detour from the main road and finding campus while trying to get back to the right road, we got to day on campus.  After day on campus, I was in Grown Woman bootcamp. My aunt Jacquie taught me how to shape my eyebrows, self pedicure, pick clothing, and talk trash back to rude Chicagoans, lol.

My second year of college, my mother, uncle, and I stopped at my aunt Jacquie’s on the way to campus. After entertaining us all night, she got up early and went with us to campus. She stayed with us all day, cleaning my apartment/dorm, going to the store to buy food, kitchenware, and supplies, meeting my roommate. We stopped over on the way back after that year of school, both ways the year after. She always went with us and helped us.

When I lost my financial aid and had to leave Purdue and go back to Michigan, attempting to finish up there, my aunt Jacquie gave me a great pep talk. I didn’t need Purdue; nothing was going to stop me. We didn’t get you this far for you to give up. No matter what you have to do, finish your degree. Don’t give up on it. You’re going to be somebody.

Then I took Mr. Perfect to meet her. He suits you, fits you, she said. As long as you respect each other and drive your own relationship. She mediated a very big discussion of ours, a very foundational piece of our relationship.

You see, my aunt Jacquie was a very funny, fun loving person, but what made her special is her heart. She was loving. She wants other people’s happiness. She was always in your corner. Whether she was calling to call you out on your nonsense or to congratulate you, she always told you she loved you. She was upset when someone upset and hurt you. She hurt when you hurt.

I started this a few days ago and since then I’ve had to change all of the last paragraph from present tense to past tense. That’s the hardest bit of editing I’ve had to do in quite a while. I hadn’t thought about what it’s like to lose people close to you, because, until the last year or so, I hadn’t lost many close to me. It’s not getting any easier. But what makes it easier than it would otherwise be is knowing that both my stepdad and Aunt Jacquie knew how much I loved and appreciated them, knew how grateful I was to have known them and had them in my life, while they were still here.

Time is filled with swift transition, indeed. Don’t leave it until later to tell anyone how much you love them and what they mean to you; you never know when they will be gone.

Aunt Jacquie knew what she did for me and what she meant to me, but I wrote this so that someone else would  know too. Maybe it won’t mean anything to you that she did all this for me. You have your own stories and memories to reminisce over. But sometimes hearing how great someone is from other people helps, lets you know you aren’t grieving alone, lets you be even more proud of the person Jacquie was. And maybe it helps you, when you want to give up, to know what she would have said and done had she been here to help you when the time came.

I love you, Jacquie. I appreciate you. I miss you.

Funeralizing Folks

Tags

coping, death, father, funeral, loss, Pink Susie, stepdad

I know I should be getting ready, but I’m not sure if I will be able to write after the funeral, so I wanted to get some things down before. I am almost certain that today will be a trial to the nerves in some way or another. Mr. Perfect and I are driving 2 1/2 hours up to where the funeral is being held today, which can be trying at any time, but especially in the cold and sleet/flurries. I haven’t anything but slacks in black, so no dress for me. My dad may be back down, with his somewhat pessimistic view of all things funeral. I don’t know what specific event triggers that, but there has to be one. He goes on and on about Black funeral cliches and stereotypes. “Who’s going to sing the song and break down halfway through? Who’s going to fall out on the casket and ask to go with them?” Etc. It is my thought that whether or not you feel that these are all contrivances is irrelevant; not only could these be real people’s real feelings about the deceased overwhelming them, my father is “an elder” in his church. I feel that any man of God I want ministering to me should have a bit more compassion. I know my day, but others may not, and take what I see as a coping mechanism of his own with a loss to be something like rudeness, of mocking a dead person’s loved ones. Even other family members may in the least feel offended that he would scruntinize and find their mourning ungenuine. Death is one area I feel you cannot know another person’s feelings from outward appearance, especially at a funeral.

When my stepfather died, I only cried on solitary tear at the funeral towards the end. It never looked like him to me, I never associated the body in the casket with him, and so I was able to be a support to my mother and brother. I stayed busy the whole time I was in Michigan, filling glasses, fixing plates, making meals, finding ways to keep my mother occupied, and keeping folks from getting too drunk and acting too much of a fool. Since returning, I’ve cried quite a bit. It’s hard for me to be emotional in front of people. My instinct is to offer support to others who may be hurting more than myself, to keep procrastinating on dealing with the fact someone is gone. Someone observing me might think I was cold hearted and cared nothing for the person because I’m not weeping copiously, but that’s not my way. So in that way, I understand that maybe the way my dad comes across isn’t how he really feels, especially in this situation.

I don’t know what shape Pink Susie will be in. Part of the reason I call her Pink Susie here is tied to the deceased; it was a nickname given to her because the deceased always bought her a little pink dress for Easter, all these pink things. Pink was the deceased favorite color. Thus far, she’s been planning the funeral, making arrangements for the business as she is leaving, and finding hotel rooms for people. Organizing and supporting, like me. I feel bad for her more than anyone, because I know what’s coming in the solitary moments. We are so much alike in some ways it’s scary. I hope I’m wrong in this one.

That’s enough for now; it’s making me weepy. I have to bear up and support her, and who knows who else. I’ll deal with my own piddling grief and fond memories later. Pray for our drive up and down, and for everyone traveling to and fro in this dreadful weather.

2blu2btru

Silent Supplication

Tags

accountability, death, faith, family, goals, loss, love, Mr. Perfect, Pearl, Pink

Day 3: Bills paid: 6 Bills to be paid: 3 Gym memberships: 1  Healthy meals: I plead the 5th Publications: 0 Minutes spent writing: 0 Movies watched: 1 (yesterday) Reviews to write: millions. Friendships attended to in some way: 1 Funerals to help plan: 1.

There’s never any time for me to attend to the things I want to accomplish in life for one reason or another. My main focus this weekend, aside from attending to my relationship with my boyfriend, was to prepare for the exciting goals I set forth yesterday. I got a little done to that end. I got some bills paid and signed up for a gym membership. My aunt has been bugging me to come down to A.P. since New Year’s Eve, but the point was for me to have time to get my apartment clean, my clothes all washed, and begin some writing while spending time with Mr. Perfect so that I could feel slightly accomplished and ready to attack my goals with a renewed vigor.

Yesterday morning, my great aunt died. Pink Susie has been up in arms since before then. She spent all of Friday night with her until she died Saturday morning around 7:00 a.m. Of course, despite all of the people who are in A.P., I am the only one who could possibly help with the obituary and getting things together (which has to be done TODAY, even though the funeral is next Saturday). I feel bad for her, because I know that she isn’t getting much help from anyone there, but they’re all fifty plus year old adults who are all right there, who should care enough about their aunt to attend to such things. I have my own life to get together. It’s not as if I am all together and right down the street. It’s four hours roundtrip for me if I just say “Hey” and take off, never leaving my car. And forget whatever else I had planned for today (art shows, gym, church). None of that matters at all; in fact, it doesn’t exist. What exists is their need for me to do all the things that other people should be doing. This, of course, is nothing new or exciting. I did all of the managerial things my aunt Faith was supposed to be doing when she became group home manager. I did monthly paperwork, policy and procedures, activities calendars, menus, work schedules, etc. It always falls to me to pick up other people’s slack; a new year hasn’t changed that.

I spent time with a friend yesterday. I finally remembered that she is a jelly fisher, one of those people who specializes in making stinging comments on everything from your appearance (I don’t have a problem with facial hair, so I don’t have to get waxing) to weight (ooh, you have a little belly! Where did that come from?) to your boyfriend’s appearance (your head is big. I just thought I’d let you know.). She gets in barbs whenever she can. May be on the drop list.

Anyway, we watched Paranormal Activity with her. The only thing that would have made this movie remotely scary is if it were truly footage of some otherwordly forces; if the demonic forces didn’t possess the woman, but rather attacked both of them (ON CAMERA); if the people had logical reactions, and; if there were more occurrences of the supernatural and less talking. More than four characters (not counting the demon) would have helped as well. I don’t have much positive to say about it. It wasn’t scary, it wasn’t suspenseful, and it wasn’t true to any normal human reactions that I’ve ever witnessed.

Now, for the title of this entry. I am going to church this morning, and supplication is a prayer. It is a humble prayer, a petition. In the secular sense (and, in my opinion, in the spiritual)  “the key meaning (of supplication) is of a request by the lesser person in an acknowledged unequal relationship.” My silent supplication, then, is for a bit of forebearance, patience, and understanding. For some discernment. To not be angry that when so many others should, I am the one to whom it falls to get it done. To see why it is for me to be sidetracked so early in my journey. To make a sort of sense that I can deal with out of this. Hopefully church will put me in the right spirit to approach the rest of my day as a tribute to someone I loved and lost and not as an unfair summons and distraction, necessitated by others not willing to do what they should. Because my own brainpower has not wrought the desired result.

2blu2btru

Year In Review

Tags

beginnings, female relationships, friends, introspection, loss, love, me, Mr. Perfect, New Year's Eve, New Year's Resolutions, Pink Susie, relationships

I promised to wrap up the year and put it to the back of the closet, so that’s what I’ll do. But before I can do that, I have to take it out and look at it again, so I’ll know it when I see it, in case someone tries to give me another one.

This year began horribly, so I am not surprised nothing went according to plan. At the end of 2008, I had lost a job and an apartment, gotten a nasty note from my father about me being ungrateful and blah blah blah, taken a temp job, moved into my apartment without heat in temps that dipped below thirty for the first time in decades (no hot water either), had my phone cut off, and all manner of tomfoolery. I brought in the New Year asleep on my floor wrapped in a blanket (no I didn’t have couches in my apartment either; it was a big empty mess…sigh) by myself, watching Notarized Top 100 and feeling like music was dead and not just Auto-tune (but especially auto-tune, one could say).

In 2009, I continued to lose things. I lost my car. It was totaled in an accident in May on my way to work. I lost my stepfather in March after a long illness he seemed largely recovered from,  at the young age of 51. When I lost my stepfather, I lost that one person that always made sure that I knew he was proud of me, no matter how I felt about my situation. There was always an up side. That, people, is where my optimism comes from, that driven belief in myself. Do not be fooled; my stubborn, hardheaded father is not the source of that. I lost that person who encouraged everything that I ever wanted to do (including singing…and no I’m not great; I’m merely passable. But the way the music industry is now…I could change the game, lol.). How do you find the place that person has left that belief, that encouragement, for you to keep with you once their gone? I don’t know. I haven’t found it yet.

I had some sorors visit me in July, and that didn’t go according to plan either. It was the middle of the year and things were slightly better, so I knew that this would be the thing I needed to revive me a bit. Some people from my past that I’d known when things were going well, people I had been close to or felt like I was growing close to through conversations since I’d left to come here. The only problem is the 2blu2btru they knew largely didn’t exist anymore. I would even venture to say a large part of who they may have thought I was never existed. The same could be said for me as well. You encounter people in certain realms and you get along great and you love talking to each other and can’t wait to get together outside of those realms and have a good time. But then you discover your good time and theirs is different. Or you are at two different places. Or, Lord forbid someone (or everyone) is on their period. Or whatever. With women it could be anything. The weekend was fun in parts, tiring, introspective, everything. Sometimes I felt like a spectator, like someone watching from home who wasn’t really there at all. You know how you yell at a TV, but no one’s expression changes, no one turns to answer you? It’s because you aren’t really a part of it. We are, to the best of my knowledge, still friends, but different friends. Not friends who give advice and talk quite a few times in a week anymore though. I am running short on those for the year.

My year hasn’t been all bad. I finally got couches in my apartment. I got a permanent position at the company I temped for. I just got my first annual review (after six months–change in policy, long story), and it was great. I was recommended for a raise and got a holiday bonus. I have another car. My biological father and I have a better relationship now. My stress level is lower since I quit working for Pink Susie. Mr. Perfect and I are still together,  and our relationship is stable. I have a phone this year (and heat and hot water). I even have internet to type this on.

If this year has taught me anything, it’s that I’m resilient. Losing people through death or growing apart, losing jobs, housing, certainty, my beliefs, and my belief in myself hurt me, but it didn’t break me.

What are my resolutions? What am I looking forward to? What are my hopes for the year? Well, that’s a whole other entry. Right now, I’m going to spruce up the apartment and wait to see what the plans are for tonight.

“Why Do You Fight it so Hard, Earl?”-Mr. Brooks

Tags

emotional wall, grief, loss, movie quotes, stepdad

–“I had a conflict–homework or Dynasty and uh…Dynasty won” “Dynasty again”? “Bad story—soaps will kill ya”–Nightmare on Elm Street 4

“I have the strangest feeling we’ve done this before.–” ”

“Why do you fight it so hard, Earl?”–Mr. Brooks

I am experiencing this deep inner conflict at the moment. I feel like Earl in Mr. Brooks. If you haven’t seen the movie, you have nothing to base that feeling on, and if you have…let me just say I don’t want to kill anybody. It’s just the feeling that you want to do what you know to be right, to stop pretending that you are a great person and actually BE a great person, but the lure of being a less than great person follows you everywhere and keeps trying to lure you back into mediocrity, into play-acting like you have it all together when that’s the biggest lie.

For example, everyone thinks I am happy, if not all the time, most of the time. Nothing can be further from the truth. Should I be that happy? Sure. I could be. I was, for a while. I tried to genuinely stay that way. But there’s always something riding alongside me that thrives on my only appearing happy to other people. It is against showing any real emotion. It’s like I have an inner wall of partition between me and how I am supposed to feel sometimes. I see what it looks like, and I can mirror it, but sometimes I don’t really feel it. And it’s so easy to pretend like you have feelings than to have them. I used to like my ability to disassociate. It saved me a lot of tears.

My stepfather died in March, the day after my mother’s birthday. Of course, having been with someone for over 20 years, she took it hard. My brother did as well; after all, that was his “real” dad. I would have taken it hard had I let myself. I slipped gratefully back behind my wall. I was in a place where I could not cry. It was odd. I couldn’t even mirror the emotion of sadness; I was numb. I served food, I wiped grubby little hands and faces, I cleaned the house, I made meals, I comforted my mother, I squelched all drunken arguments and antics…but it didn’t feel real to me that my stepfather had passed.

Slowly, however, reality is creeping into all of those sealed off places, and real emotions are peeking through. I cried for a while this morning thinking about my stepfather. I still want to ask my mother where he is, or talk to him. I remember being little and trying so hard to learn to play the keyboard because he played. I remember sitting on his lap and “driving” around the backstreets on the way home, much to my mother’s horror. I remember that he always, without fail, told me he was proud of me, even when I couldn’t see any rational reason for anyone to be proud of me.

I want to embrace the feeling of sadness. I know it’s the only way to move on. But even now, it is slipping away from me. My boyfriend is lying asleep on his couch, completely oblivious to the storm that has taken place in his living room. All the floodwaters are just about dried up now. There are no high water marks or water damage to be seen. He won’t know it ever happened.

2Blu2BTru