In Memoriam: My Aunt Baby.

I did not know how to say how I loved you.

Once I knew you had passed, my mind began to map out the area of three-dimensional space you had inhabited in my heart.

I never knew just how much.

And once I had mapped it, I knew its breadth, its height and its depth.

It was vast.

I was sad.

Your absence left a vacuum in my life.

It’s palpable.

My Aunt Baby passed away this past Tuesday. Her real name was Viola, but her family nickname was Baby.

Oldest sibling of my mother’s five – two males, four females in all – my Aunt Baby was a formidable woman – strong like a granite fist, her mind for most of her life, razor sharp.

Yet she laughed at the ridiculous and the absurd – and that’s one of the things I loved about her. She also had her fussy ways and I know that despite the distance that created between us, she loved me.

The love I felt from her was like the love you’d want to feel from your favorite elementary school teacher, or librarian.

It was distant, but it was neither cold nor dismissive nor neglectful.

It was a very certain and specific love, the dimensions of which were easy to comprehend. And yet, maybe, in spite of that, or perhaps because of it, you knew that she loved you to the near-bursting point of those boundaries.

And it was that knowledge that made it good and true.

It made me feel safe, the reliability of it. The security.

It was balanced, and it was nice.

I did not know you that well while you lived, but your presence served as one of a select few guideposts that defined my life:

Be well-read.

Don’t hide your intelligence.

Speak your mind.

Live with dignity.

Enjoy the small things.

I am so thankful that you were in my life, Aunt Baby. I didn’t know that I needed you in it.

1930-2018

thanksgiven.

 

img_20171123_234602_942841023622.jpgwords

memories

flow

like the

wine

at the dinner table.

warming hearts,

glad to be together.

glad to eat together.

beating.

beating.

past

and present

blend.

memories are remembered.

(remember).

hair grayer

hair silver,

showing

slivers of time

accruing in increments

in multiples of sixty

when halved, thirty

divided by ten

reveals three,

the Divine number,

the mystic Trinity.

extrapolated outward

forming floral petal fractals

that form

our families.

(remember).

the sacred mathematics of family,

of love.

the beating of our hearts

beats in time,

the beating of our hearts

never stops

(thetimepassageoftime).

the beauty and humility of

age.

countered

by the morning bell chime

of children’s

laughter.

(remember).

generations gather.

the catching up.

the how’ve you been.

the what have you been up to.

the remember when.

laughter.

erupts

reminiscing

over the

wild foolishness of youth,

of the times when

we shouldn’t but we did,

of the times of Together.

tears.

shed

missing loved ones

gone.

no longer with us,

sailed beyond the Silver Curtain.

(remember).

Music

Playing.

The beating of

drums

like the beating of

hearts

pulsating blood

with the same blood

with different blood

with blended blood.

Mexican Muslim Anglo

-and the transcendent

beauty

of the children of both.

the unity of family

gay lesbian husbands and wives, widows and life partners

never to divide.

souls broken and whole and healing.

the nightmare of Trump’s “America”

is the glorious, glittering living dream of my family.

my beautiful Technicolor family.

adults of paper and children of technology.

joyous hearts beating.

glad souls eating.

bread breaking.

talking.

eating.

(remember).

warm lights and warm hearts and lighthearts.

hearts.

beating.

beating.

the spirits

of generations past,

of those gone on

before us,

among us still,

in the glow of

wine and Christmas lights.

the table that has fed generations.

the kitchen that has produced miracles,

making anger and hunger dissipate

in equal parts.

a recipe for love.

a chemical bond.

a culinary magic,

it’s spell cast,

with each serving served by a loved one

who serves a loved one

who serves a loved one,

serving a circle,

around the table,

in service

of others

for the selfless love

of others

sealing,

offering forth

blessings

of safety,

for protection,

for another year,

for all those that are gathered here.

(remember).

words

memories

flow

like the wine at the

dinner table

while all this time,

new memories are made.

another circle

completed.

another cycle

turned.

the sacred spell sealed.

time passes.

eyes grow tired.

aches are eased.

bellies are full.

souls at ease.

the warmth of

wine and

laughter

and good food served

with love

has done it’s job.

the ritual is completed,

the spell sealed,

the bond is reset.

it is done.

it is good.

clear the plates,

please.

 

It’s time for pie.