My great aunt died last week.
Beverly Jean Gedda Harper.
She was an observer. A quiet smiler. A believer. I didn’t see her too often, but I wish I had. She was a peaceful keeper of so many answers I didn’t even know I wanted.
Her husband and her brother died in a camping accident. Her daughter had polio. Her son died before coming home from the hospital. What was all that like? I wish I’d asked.
She never gave a hint that she lived in that past. Life! She still laughed. She still lived on surrounded by family. Every time I saw her, she’d smile this wondrous smile, as if to say, ‘Can you believe this shit?’
It’s in my genes that smile.
My grandma, Beverly’s sister, was a notorious trickster. There was always a fake puke somewhere in our house when she lived there. Or a fake fly in a fake ice cube in someone’s drink. And, of course, the Whoopie cushion. Always a Whoopie cushion.
My family is my family. And they’re the best family I’ve ever had.
And the weirdest part: Lots of them are dead.
Yeah.
My dad. All my grandparents. Dead! Dead! Dead!
Some people have gone through their lives without experiencing death. They have young parents who last forever. I’ve understood death since fourth grade when I saw that funny grandma who looked funnier than usual as she lie in a box wearing the dress she only used for special occasions. I personally thought she looked better in housecoats. I STILL miss sitting on her lap.
And then my grandpa died. And my father. And my other grandma. And then a friend. And then more friends. At least ten people from my high school class have all left the earth. Most by drugs. Some by car accidents. A few suicides.
All these people I used to know.
So many deaths! They are a vivid reminder that, SHIT, we are all going to die! AH! I mean, in a hundred years, you guys won’t be reading this. There won’t even be computers. Hopefully not blogs. Probably no more outside. Definitely no more laughing. And we’re all gonna be dead. ALL OF US! Sorry. I don’t mean to be a spoiler, but WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE. Sometimes, usually when I’m taking a bath, I think about my one-day heyday as a vibrant senior citizen. Or my legacy as the World’s Oldest Person Who Writes about Vaginas. And then how I will one day no longer exist. AT ALL! It’s so weird. Yet feels good to know I’ll be leaving such an imprint on society with my vagina.
But I try not to think about that stuff. Because it’s better to just live. And not take baths.
You had a good heyday, Auntie Bev! I’ll ask you those questions one day.
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Not me. I’m not gonna die.
Beautiful tribute to your Aunty. xoxo
All of us will be remembered by our children and grandchildren if we have them just as you remember your grandparents, aunts and uncles. I think the internet is here to stay and my kids and their kids and their kids will always be able to find me online. It will be the same for you Ms. Laurenne whether it is kids or friends or kids of friends. You will be remembered. I will tell my grand kids to remember you. :)
It’s odd that we wait to regret the time we didn’t spend with people, until after they’re gone. It’s like while they’re here we assume they’ll always be here. Even if we know they’re old and fleeting. My last set of grandparents just turned 90 this year. Now that I live half way on the other side of the earth, I speak to them more often than when I lived down the street. Which is great. But we talk about the weather and work. Not about real life and their 90 years of real experience. Maybe I’ll try that tomorrow. It’s not too late. Thanks.
It’s not too late! Dude, ask them about losing their virginity! Or what it was like when there was only ONE TV show on at a time. Or the radio. Or wars. Or prohibition. Or when they started wearing elastic waistbands.
Great remembrance of your aunt and thinking about family.
I’ve recently been thinking a lot about talking with older family members about their younger years, living through WW2, etc. I still have 2 grandmothers and have never really taken the time to ask them about their youth, dating my grandfathers, etc. Part of me wonders if they all will want to talk and if they would tell me the total truth, but I definitely know that I should be asking. Thanks for the reminder, love.
Like you, I experienced a lot of death during my growing up years. My Grampa died on my 3rd birthday. I have one memory of him. He rolled his own cigarettes – Prince Albert. I don’t know if he added anything ‘extra’ to those cigs. But he would always let me blow out the match. I still think of him every time I blow one out.
If I die tomorrow, I hope I lived today.
Aunt Bev had it right. Horrible shit happens. People you love die – sometimes before you even have a chance to love them all the way. But you smile and get on with it. Because you’re going to die, too.
And you should die trying…
i loved this. i wish i’d known her. your grandma, too.
Have you given any thought to becoming a vampire? Something to consider.
Otherwise, though, all those deaths you’ve witnessed have given you a stellar perception of life and mortality. And vaginas.
… this made me think of the old Jim Carroll song… you are quite the story teller…
I think about life and death a lot. When I first realized that I would never be able to see my grandpa again, it took a long time to recover from that.There one day, gone the next. It doesn’t get easier when you start to lose more people in your life, but I’ve found that it’s important to be yourself, be honest, and tell people you love them. So that when we all leave, our memories will be pure. I know, sentimental. Don’t tell anybody.
Oh man, I’m sorry, Laurenne. Being an only child, I think about death all of the time. I used to lie awake at night crying worrying about everyone I love dying. Still do sometimes. I’m with ya.