This is an entry I wrote a few weeks ago following the passing of my aunt, but never got around to posting...
***
For those who live abroad, being away has a dark side that we rarely talk about... that we try to avoid acknowledging. It's the type of reality that keeps us from our family and friends that we love, but from whom we are so far removed. We have an endless number of reasons for our departure. Some leave to cure a broken heart, some seek adventure, while still others are being practical and pursuing economic ends. Still others are left with few options and walk across the tarmac to somewhere new because few options remain in the place they used to call home. Often, it's a combination of these factors. I've quoted this before (and probably will until my end of days), but it's something I believe about our travels... "For the longest way 'round is the shortest way home." My own plans for one year of recovery and rediscovery have turned into 6 years and a potential career abroad, at least for the forseeable future. This distance, though... sometimes it cuts deep.
My aunt passed away this morning. My uncle's wife. We weren't close, nor had we ever really been. I spent quite a few holiday get-togethers with her and my uncle and my cousins at big family dinners. We were friend, but I knew her only in a superficial way. That's probably the case for many nieces/nephews/aunts/uncles. I remember her laugh and a few other details, but much of what I'd known has faded from years being out of touch. But, I remember her laugh. I liked it. It was comforting.
We were strangers, though, for no reason but a lack of proximity and a generally broken relationship between my father and his older brother. It was also just a reality of different lives, different towns, different priorities. It has been a few years since I saw her last. The most recent memory, I remember noticing how much her and my uncle had changed. Her silvered hair looked good on her, but for some reason it still surprised me. I'm sure I'd noticed before, but in my mind's eye, she remained a youngish 40-something. She'd aged, but seemed to have aged well. My uncle was different too in my recent experiences. He had softened, and seemed to have an easy smile and a ready joke. Maybe being a grandfather had brought this out in him... or maybe my own memories are skewed. He was curious about my life in a way I'd never experienced with him. They both were.
I have mixed memories of my uncle. When I was a child, I recall being equal parts intrigued by him and scared of him. He was so much like my dad in many ways, but was still different. Sadly, it's the more negative memories that define my early recollections, but my later memories as an adult (and, to a certain extent, when I re-met him) were much more positive. I remember a few occasions asking my mom why he and my dad never talked and always seemed to be walking a razor wire of intensity when they were together. She'd explained a bit of the backstory, but I remember little of it other than the long-standing reality of distance between them. This is a tough bit to swallow when you're young and idealistic, thinking you've got it figured out. I couldn't understand why they couldn't just forget about it and be buddies. Now that I'm in my 30s, I understand a bit more. Grievances are harder to shake, harder to forgive, maybe impossible to forget. History marks us all, and the scars sometimes become all we can see.
I got the message this evening. My fiancée is getting a massage with a friend and I was sitting in a nearby pub, enjoying a stout while reading my book. It was grey outside. Cold. Windy. Vancouver in January. Checking my email, I see the note from my cousin's wife, N...
"Hey T, not sure what kind of hours you keep on the other side of the big ball... just thought I would let you know that [your aunt] passed away peacefully in the night. Tragic and calming all at the same time. The suffering is finally over. Take care."
The guilty part of me feels like the message is undeserved and too kind. I haven't made the slightest effort to contact them in a meaningful way since she got sick. I kept think... "I'll make the effort when I'm home in the summer." So selfish, this thought.
Why are the young so confident in the belief that there will be more time? And even as I age, why have I not become any wiser to this reality?
***
For those who live abroad, being away has a dark side that we rarely talk about... that we try to avoid acknowledging. It's the type of reality that keeps us from our family and friends that we love, but from whom we are so far removed. We have an endless number of reasons for our departure. Some leave to cure a broken heart, some seek adventure, while still others are being practical and pursuing economic ends. Still others are left with few options and walk across the tarmac to somewhere new because few options remain in the place they used to call home. Often, it's a combination of these factors. I've quoted this before (and probably will until my end of days), but it's something I believe about our travels... "For the longest way 'round is the shortest way home." My own plans for one year of recovery and rediscovery have turned into 6 years and a potential career abroad, at least for the forseeable future. This distance, though... sometimes it cuts deep.
My aunt passed away this morning. My uncle's wife. We weren't close, nor had we ever really been. I spent quite a few holiday get-togethers with her and my uncle and my cousins at big family dinners. We were friend, but I knew her only in a superficial way. That's probably the case for many nieces/nephews/aunts/uncles. I remember her laugh and a few other details, but much of what I'd known has faded from years being out of touch. But, I remember her laugh. I liked it. It was comforting.
We were strangers, though, for no reason but a lack of proximity and a generally broken relationship between my father and his older brother. It was also just a reality of different lives, different towns, different priorities. It has been a few years since I saw her last. The most recent memory, I remember noticing how much her and my uncle had changed. Her silvered hair looked good on her, but for some reason it still surprised me. I'm sure I'd noticed before, but in my mind's eye, she remained a youngish 40-something. She'd aged, but seemed to have aged well. My uncle was different too in my recent experiences. He had softened, and seemed to have an easy smile and a ready joke. Maybe being a grandfather had brought this out in him... or maybe my own memories are skewed. He was curious about my life in a way I'd never experienced with him. They both were.
I have mixed memories of my uncle. When I was a child, I recall being equal parts intrigued by him and scared of him. He was so much like my dad in many ways, but was still different. Sadly, it's the more negative memories that define my early recollections, but my later memories as an adult (and, to a certain extent, when I re-met him) were much more positive. I remember a few occasions asking my mom why he and my dad never talked and always seemed to be walking a razor wire of intensity when they were together. She'd explained a bit of the backstory, but I remember little of it other than the long-standing reality of distance between them. This is a tough bit to swallow when you're young and idealistic, thinking you've got it figured out. I couldn't understand why they couldn't just forget about it and be buddies. Now that I'm in my 30s, I understand a bit more. Grievances are harder to shake, harder to forgive, maybe impossible to forget. History marks us all, and the scars sometimes become all we can see.
I got the message this evening. My fiancée is getting a massage with a friend and I was sitting in a nearby pub, enjoying a stout while reading my book. It was grey outside. Cold. Windy. Vancouver in January. Checking my email, I see the note from my cousin's wife, N...
"Hey T, not sure what kind of hours you keep on the other side of the big ball... just thought I would let you know that [your aunt] passed away peacefully in the night. Tragic and calming all at the same time. The suffering is finally over. Take care."
The guilty part of me feels like the message is undeserved and too kind. I haven't made the slightest effort to contact them in a meaningful way since she got sick. I kept think... "I'll make the effort when I'm home in the summer." So selfish, this thought.
Why are the young so confident in the belief that there will be more time? And even as I age, why have I not become any wiser to this reality?
Aunt J, you will be missed.
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