All Things Considered: June 2012

It's been eight years since I've been back to visit my extended family who live in Wassaic, NY. Eight years, since my maternal grandmother passed away and I went up for her funeral and spent time with my relatives there. Basically, my mother's whole family lives in Wassaic, a tiny little country town about 2 hours north of New York City. My mom is the youngest of four sisters, and the other three live within a mile of each other in Wassaic (and my grandparents lived within that mile, too, when they were living). And I am the youngest grandchild - by far - of my cousins. Although we have always been somewhat far away, I have so many wonderful memories of visits to Wassaic... long car rides, sleeping on my sisters' shoulders; staying with my grandparents; running barefoot through the grass on their property, finding ways to entertain ourselves while the adults visited; family card games; swimming with my cousins in my grandparents' pool; my grandmother's strawberry rhubarb pie, which was made from the delicious rhubarb that still grows in the front yard; family weddings and family gatherings, warm with food and love; the old antique metal chair, painted white with a heart-shaped back, that was always designated for me (because it was smaller than all the rest); and sitting on the back of my grandfather's lounge chair in the living room, while he watched TV and let us comb the few remaining hairs on his shiny head. So many fond, warm, happy memories.

This visit to New York felt quite different than most of the other visits over the years. For starters, I'm in a completely different place in my life than any other visit. 34 years old - fully adult, married now with my own child and my own responsibilities. With more life experience, which has opened my eyes wider than they've ever been before. This time, this trip felt weighty and important. Not that other visits weren't important - all of them are. One difference that I noted was that in all previous visits, the family has come together to see us at some point... we've had a least one family gathering with all the aunts, uncles, and cousins who either live nearby or were in town to visit. This time, we visited with each family separately. And one cousin who lived a few short miles away - we didn't see at all. This time, there seemed to be too much pain, and too much distance, for a visit altogether. Too much distance, although only a mile apart.

Same people, same place, same memories... but so much has changed.

This visit, we spent the first full day and a half with my aunt and uncle and some time with two of my cousins.   My same sweet Auntie Ev, my same wild, brash, fun-loving, generous Uncle Gene, my same crazy, fun cousin Kay, and my same smiling, more reserved cousin Elliot. We mostly spent our time sharing food, laughter, and lots of wine. But several things were different for these people. My cousin Kay and her boyfriend now own and live in the home/property that was previously my grandparents', and the home where my mother and aunts grew up. We had dinner there one night, and it was both lovely (very well kept and renovated) and strange to see the house transformed into a place where my grandparents no longer live. And we spent time listening to stories about recent work disappointments/struggles, family disagreements and strife, and painful realities that were new to my awareness. There was an air of sadness that had seeped in to these family members voices and lives since the last time I had visited. If it was there before, I had just never been mature enough or intuitive enough to notice.

The next full day we spent with my Auntie Jan, the next to oldest sister (79 years old). Still as funny, hard-edged, and endearing as ever. The first thing she said to my sister when she saw her blond highlights: "What is this? What is wrong with your hair?" And, she had some comments about my skirt which was asymmetrical and frayed on the bottom. "Where did you pick up that thing? Salvation Army?" Somehow, she pulls it off with love.

She's so much the same, but in a completely different place physically and emotionally, than the last time I saw her. The past eight years have been extremely difficult for my Auntie Jan.

My Auntie Jan, who, was diagnosed with ovarian cancer soon after my Grandmother passed away in 2004. She has had two surgeries to remove tumors over the last eight years, and countless rounds of chemotherapy. Her body has endured the strain of cancer and its treatments, and her mind has been subjected to the confusion, stress, heartbreak, and fear of terminal illness.

She made a comment about the "cancer fairies" who had come to visit her eight years ago. I told her I hated those fairies. So. Much.

As we ate a hearty dinner and my Auntie Jan laughed and told jokes, my father looked at her and said, "You know what? You are a pirata. Pirata means pirate in Spanish... full of spunk, full of life." And my aunt looked at him and said, "Well, Gene... what choice have I got?"

This particular day, cancer was no match for the fighting spirit of my Auntie Jan.

We spent the day catching up, and reminiscing about old times. She talked about her time in the Air Force, and I never realized she was called back into active duty at age 41.. she served for about 3 years, and then she was in reserves for 20 years or more. She retired with 6 stripes, and said being in the service was some of most fun she has had in her life.

It was very difficult for me to say goodbye to Auntie Jan this visit. I told her I loved her and that I would see her soon. I held strong and didn't let her see me cry. And as I walked to the car and we drove out of the driveway, I couldn't be strong anymore. I couldn't help but think I might be driving away from her house for the last time.

On our last day in New York, we visited with my mother's oldest sister, my Aunt Margaret. She is 83 years old, and her husband passed away the end of January this year. I felt horrible that we couldn't make it up for Uncle Gus's funeral, although my mom, dad, and sister were there. It was great to see her, and spend time hearing about how she is doing.
Considering the freshness of her recent loss, she was doing okay. She did fall apart a few times, admitting that it is so difficult to be alone after 64 years. In addition to losing Uncle Gus, she also has had other family problems that have been painful for her to bear. And, she has had many recent health issues which cause her physical pain. However, she didn't seem to dwell in the sadness or the discomfort... she was able to keep moving, in and out of the pain as she needed to. Both the physical and the emotional. I thought this was a real testament to her character - her will to remain strong, despite the weight she carries. There were many moments of lightness and laughter, and I was so happy to see her smile - it's what I think of, when I think of her.

With tear-stained cheeks and a painful resolve in her voice, she encouraged us all to remain close with each other, no matter what.

When I think back on my visits to Wassaic as a child, and even as a young adult, things just felt so light. So normal. So revolved around visiting together and having fun. Blissfully unaware of any heavier or darker things that might be taking place in the lives of my family members. And on this visit, as I could see and feel so much more, I couldn't help but look at my daughter and my nephews and see how much fun they were having. How blissfully unaware, as they should be. And how I hoped they would hold sweet memories of this family trip to see their relatives in Wassaic, just like I do.

And I realized... that although I'm still the youngest grandchild in my extended family by far, my adult eyes and heart are no longer protected from their hard realities of life. Nor should they be.

Knowing that doesn't make it any easier to process or feel.

It's been eight years... for many of my family members, those eight years have been hard, sad times... times which have included illness and years of declining health; years of growing distance between loved ones; painful years of figuring out how a family restructures itself - physically and emotionally - after both their patriarch and matriarch have passed on; years of loss - through divorce or death; and more.

I'm so glad we went and so grateful that we could be with my family for a little while. I'm sorry it's been eight years, and I'm so sorry for the struggles they've all been through. And as an adult, I'm grateful that now, I could fully see them; to see where they've been, to know their hurts (in their hearts and bodies), to feel the brokenness, and to be able to share in it with them in some small way.

All things considered, I'm grateful for the new, sweet memories. Thanks, Wassaic. And even though we're separated by age, distance, and much more, you're always close to my heart. We'll be back to see you soon.