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drwexI am, instead, setting out to write a memoriam for my aunt. She passed very suddenly yesterday morning. I am not OK, but I have a good support network and I am keeping myself busy and distracted. This entry is unlocked because I want to be able to share it with people who are not on DW. Please be discreet in your re-shares and ask first. I do not want this on Facebook.
I don't know how to cohere a story of a person who has been part of my life for so long so you're going to get snippets and memories. She and my uncle just had their 50th anniversary last December. I remember him bringing her to our family home to introduce her before they formally announced their engagement. That means I've known her just about 51 years, which is a really long time.
Paul brought Gray to our house in New Jersey on a particularly hot day. I remember this because my brother and I were playing out on the screened-in porch when they arrived. I remember them walking up the back way, which few people did. I remember my uncle going out into the blazing sun to play Frisbee with us boys while she got left alone with my parents. I remember coming inside, all three of us literally drenched in sweat, and guzzling iced tea that my father had made. Later, as an adult, I would realize how much pressure that put on her, to be abandoned only minutes after arriving, with strangers she probably felt she had to impress.
Gray, born and raised in New England, typified a kind of New England woman of the 20th century. Some people would call them standoff-ish, but I like to think of them as quiet, and private. Gray was always kind and welcoming but not the sort of outgoing and effusive welcoming you think of with traditional southern US women. Somehow she dealt with my mother, and charmed my father.
Come December I was to be involved in their wedding. I was young enough that I misheard my role and went to my father, tearfully concerned that I would have to wear a costume in order to be the "ring bear" for the ceremony. In fact, I wore a kind of costume - a truly horrid jacket that my mother insisted on and that makes me want to burn every picture of myself in it - and as the ring bearer I walked with the exaggerated care and dignity of a nervous child amid Gray's nieces who got the in-my-mind better job of strewing flower petals everywhere.
Gray had two major careers in her life, after some early office work (through which she met my uncle). She was a real estate lawyer first, and built a successful practice. I never really gave it much thought and she didn't talk about work with us. Years later, when equal marriage became a thing, I was amused to learn that Gray's clientele had featured a number of same-sex couples. You see, if you want a deed to a house drawn up in the name of two men (or two women) then that's what she'd do, without asking prying questions or making unnecessary assumptions. Friendly and private has its advantages and apparently her name got around through informal networks as someone who would be friendly and not pry. A real lesson in how "being left alone" is tangled up in privilege in our society.
During this time, Gray's household was our family social gathering center. She and Paul hosted innumerable Passover Seders, Thanksgiving dinners, and Christmas galas (always extending to the 27th, which was my grandmother/Paul's mother birthday). These events tend to run together in my mind - we have pictures that I can say "Oh, that's from a Seder there" but darned if I could tell you what year without looking.
I remember that each event was meticulously planned. Often there'd be a sheet taped to the wall of the kitchen in her neat handwriting laying out the timeline for when this-or-that had to go into the oven, when the table should be set, and so on.
I remember that there never was a "kid's table" - from the time we were old enough to eat adult meals we ate with the adults. And there were lots of adults, particularly for Passover and Thanksgiving. I remember counting 28 one year - family and friends and coworkers and spouses - and I'm sure there were other equally big years but time has clouded that memory. Paul usually tended to the main meat and I remember when I got old enough he let me help with the carving and serving. Gray always treated me as more adult than I felt, and I appreciated that.
I remember that there usually were placecards, showing where people should sit. Emily Post would have approved. The cards were almost always hand-written and often decorated appropriately for the season. I remember there were often little gifts for everyone, one wrapped at each place. Kids would get little games or puzzles, and the adults would get desk ornaments or functional items. I remember that these gifts were always individual, no two identical, and how that spoke to their sense of caring and love for the family and their guests.
I remember that Gray was always a dog person. They always had at least one and often two dogs. For much of the time the dogs were German Shepherds and they were devoted and protective of her. I remember they had a cat, a mostly wild and outdoor animal that associated himself with my uncle and hissed at strangers, except the one time I came to their house because I was feeling shattered by my divorce and really didn't have anywhere else to go. The cat appeared out of nowhere and jumped into my lap insistently headbutting my hand until I started petting it, which helped with the tears almost as much as the cup of tea that Gray had made me.
I remember that she liked to sing in the church choir and got my uncle to go along with that as well. I don't think I ever heard her sing around the house, though. I suspect she might've thought it wasn't proper.
I remember that after my grandmother died the family gatherings dwindled and eventually stopped. Gray had by then embarked on her second career as a wild plant... conservator? I guess you'd say. She worked with local wildflower and nature conservation agencies, identifying new species, spotting and removing invasives, gathering seeds and cuttings for study, helping move conservation and preservation efforts forward. She taught classes and led tours.
I remember she loved to travel by car and that when I was younger I was frustrated at how lawful good she was and how she insisted we drive exactly 55 and not more. She and my uncle took many car trips, short ones up into the woods of Vermont or down to the Cape, and longer ones including a months-long drive around the perimeter of the US. They went down the east coast, across the south, back up the west coast, then cross-country home again. I still have stored on my voicemail a "happy birthday" call from the two of them placed from International Falls, MN, where they had stopped that day.
I remember she loved her siblings and their children; the only times I saw her sad was when something was wrong or troubled with her family. I remember that my mother baffled her, but she was generally too polite to ask (me) questions. I remember how in her very reassuring quiet way she loved her husband and adopted his mother to love as she could.
When it became clear they could no longer host events, we started to invite them to our place. They came for Seder once or twice, and we started a family tradition of going out for Thanksgiving. We'd do brunch with them now and then to try and catch up. Some months ago it became obvious that Gray's body would not keep up with her mind any longer and she left home to move into assisted living. We had Thanksgiving dinner with them there and made plans to socialize again. And now we will not.
Writing this has been the hardest thing I've done in a long time. I'm sure I've jumbled up memories in my haste to put things down but I did not want today to pass unremarked.
I don't know how to cohere a story of a person who has been part of my life for so long so you're going to get snippets and memories. She and my uncle just had their 50th anniversary last December. I remember him bringing her to our family home to introduce her before they formally announced their engagement. That means I've known her just about 51 years, which is a really long time.
Paul brought Gray to our house in New Jersey on a particularly hot day. I remember this because my brother and I were playing out on the screened-in porch when they arrived. I remember them walking up the back way, which few people did. I remember my uncle going out into the blazing sun to play Frisbee with us boys while she got left alone with my parents. I remember coming inside, all three of us literally drenched in sweat, and guzzling iced tea that my father had made. Later, as an adult, I would realize how much pressure that put on her, to be abandoned only minutes after arriving, with strangers she probably felt she had to impress.
Gray, born and raised in New England, typified a kind of New England woman of the 20th century. Some people would call them standoff-ish, but I like to think of them as quiet, and private. Gray was always kind and welcoming but not the sort of outgoing and effusive welcoming you think of with traditional southern US women. Somehow she dealt with my mother, and charmed my father.
Come December I was to be involved in their wedding. I was young enough that I misheard my role and went to my father, tearfully concerned that I would have to wear a costume in order to be the "ring bear" for the ceremony. In fact, I wore a kind of costume - a truly horrid jacket that my mother insisted on and that makes me want to burn every picture of myself in it - and as the ring bearer I walked with the exaggerated care and dignity of a nervous child amid Gray's nieces who got the in-my-mind better job of strewing flower petals everywhere.
Gray had two major careers in her life, after some early office work (through which she met my uncle). She was a real estate lawyer first, and built a successful practice. I never really gave it much thought and she didn't talk about work with us. Years later, when equal marriage became a thing, I was amused to learn that Gray's clientele had featured a number of same-sex couples. You see, if you want a deed to a house drawn up in the name of two men (or two women) then that's what she'd do, without asking prying questions or making unnecessary assumptions. Friendly and private has its advantages and apparently her name got around through informal networks as someone who would be friendly and not pry. A real lesson in how "being left alone" is tangled up in privilege in our society.
During this time, Gray's household was our family social gathering center. She and Paul hosted innumerable Passover Seders, Thanksgiving dinners, and Christmas galas (always extending to the 27th, which was my grandmother/Paul's mother birthday). These events tend to run together in my mind - we have pictures that I can say "Oh, that's from a Seder there" but darned if I could tell you what year without looking.
I remember that each event was meticulously planned. Often there'd be a sheet taped to the wall of the kitchen in her neat handwriting laying out the timeline for when this-or-that had to go into the oven, when the table should be set, and so on.
I remember that there never was a "kid's table" - from the time we were old enough to eat adult meals we ate with the adults. And there were lots of adults, particularly for Passover and Thanksgiving. I remember counting 28 one year - family and friends and coworkers and spouses - and I'm sure there were other equally big years but time has clouded that memory. Paul usually tended to the main meat and I remember when I got old enough he let me help with the carving and serving. Gray always treated me as more adult than I felt, and I appreciated that.
I remember that there usually were placecards, showing where people should sit. Emily Post would have approved. The cards were almost always hand-written and often decorated appropriately for the season. I remember there were often little gifts for everyone, one wrapped at each place. Kids would get little games or puzzles, and the adults would get desk ornaments or functional items. I remember that these gifts were always individual, no two identical, and how that spoke to their sense of caring and love for the family and their guests.
I remember that Gray was always a dog person. They always had at least one and often two dogs. For much of the time the dogs were German Shepherds and they were devoted and protective of her. I remember they had a cat, a mostly wild and outdoor animal that associated himself with my uncle and hissed at strangers, except the one time I came to their house because I was feeling shattered by my divorce and really didn't have anywhere else to go. The cat appeared out of nowhere and jumped into my lap insistently headbutting my hand until I started petting it, which helped with the tears almost as much as the cup of tea that Gray had made me.
I remember that she liked to sing in the church choir and got my uncle to go along with that as well. I don't think I ever heard her sing around the house, though. I suspect she might've thought it wasn't proper.
I remember that after my grandmother died the family gatherings dwindled and eventually stopped. Gray had by then embarked on her second career as a wild plant... conservator? I guess you'd say. She worked with local wildflower and nature conservation agencies, identifying new species, spotting and removing invasives, gathering seeds and cuttings for study, helping move conservation and preservation efforts forward. She taught classes and led tours.
I remember she loved to travel by car and that when I was younger I was frustrated at how lawful good she was and how she insisted we drive exactly 55 and not more. She and my uncle took many car trips, short ones up into the woods of Vermont or down to the Cape, and longer ones including a months-long drive around the perimeter of the US. They went down the east coast, across the south, back up the west coast, then cross-country home again. I still have stored on my voicemail a "happy birthday" call from the two of them placed from International Falls, MN, where they had stopped that day.
I remember she loved her siblings and their children; the only times I saw her sad was when something was wrong or troubled with her family. I remember that my mother baffled her, but she was generally too polite to ask (me) questions. I remember how in her very reassuring quiet way she loved her husband and adopted his mother to love as she could.
When it became clear they could no longer host events, we started to invite them to our place. They came for Seder once or twice, and we started a family tradition of going out for Thanksgiving. We'd do brunch with them now and then to try and catch up. Some months ago it became obvious that Gray's body would not keep up with her mind any longer and she left home to move into assisted living. We had Thanksgiving dinner with them there and made plans to socialize again. And now we will not.
Writing this has been the hardest thing I've done in a long time. I'm sure I've jumbled up memories in my haste to put things down but I did not want today to pass unremarked.
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Date: 2019-03-19 09:31 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2019-03-19 10:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-20 06:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-19 11:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-20 06:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-20 12:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-20 06:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-20 12:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-20 06:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-20 01:07 am (UTC)I'm sorry for your loss. May her memory be a blessing.
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Date: 2019-03-20 06:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-20 09:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-20 06:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-20 12:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-20 06:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-20 05:50 pm (UTC)This stuff is hard.
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Date: 2019-03-20 06:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-20 08:28 pm (UTC)Thanks for sharing your memories.
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Date: 2019-03-22 04:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-21 02:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-22 05:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-22 06:32 pm (UTC)Thank you for writing of her. Her memory for a blessing.
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Date: 2019-03-27 12:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-03-27 02:17 am (UTC)