"Irrelevance"...or the youthful misconception of it. (RIP Aunt Shirley).
It's strange getting older.
I don't know if it's my generation or not...but in a lot of ways I still feel like I'm the younger person everywhere I go. Even when I look in the mirror and see white hair (well...less of it on top but plenty on the bottom) and I realize that most of the music I listen to is in fact over 30 years old I can't help feeling that I'm still 'not quite grown'.
I think that's why I'm still surprised when I speak to my bonus kids or niece and nephew and they get this look on their faces that I don't have any idea what it is I'm talking about. That in a lot of ways...I'm irrelevant. Not in any mean way. Just in that way that I can remember thinking my Dad and Mom and any person older than 28 couldn't possibly understand what it was like to be a somewhat socially awkward kid trying to navigate the simple things in life like High School, dating and how to program the VCR to record episodes of Next Generation. I don't take it personal. Well...not totally. I wish I could help Wendy's sons and daughter navigate this world and keep them from making the same bonehead moves I made but I know that they have to find their way and that my role as a bonus parent means that in fact I have less of a say on their day to day lives than even Wendy. My role in their lives is completely defined by them, and while at times that hurts...I often sit and hope that they'll call me in off the bench when they need. I'm proud of them. I've said it a million times but I legit won the 'bonus kid' lottery with these three...so I'm just glad to be in their orbit.
I really can't be too upset either. With a memory like mine, I can completely understand their thinking. In my mind I believe that when they look at me with that blank look in their eyes as I wax philosophical about who knows what, I realize that they probably see an old man...who means well but obviously can't understand what it is to navigate post high school life, dating or how to program their VCR to record episodes of Next Generation. Somewhere in the last 40 years...I've grown up and damnit I didn't even notice.
It's in those moments where the world comes and smacks me upside the head to remind me that yes...I am becoming a part of the 'Elder' class of society. Like it did today.
My Aunt Shirley passed away this morning.
A woman in her late 80's...who lived an amazingly large while incredibly quiet life. Large in that her accomplishments are inspiring and large...but quiet in that her role tended to be one of faciilitator and motivator. Eldest of 6 children, born to a flawed but loving couple, Shirley Benson had to grow up fast. She helped raise her younger siblings in the way most eldest children did during the 'baby boom'. The youngest being born exactly ten years after her on the same day. She helped my Grandparents care for this brood and then she grew up and married a man with whom she birthed six kids of her own. When that flawed man left...Shirley Crouse made it her life's mission to make sure she raised those six kids. Working whatever job she needed to, she still made time to instill in those six people ideas of family, character and substance. Those six kids grew into six inspiring adults who all have a strong moral compass, incredible work ethic and love for each other that transcends pettiness. I'm one of the 'younger' cousins. Being born to the 'baby' I didn't come along until most of those six were already in their 20's. Yet growing up I can still remember being fascinated by them. Melody as the stalwart strong one. Loyal and always there. Tommy who always wears his heart on his sleeve and is ruled by emotion and loyalty. Norm who sold me my first car, and always appeared to be just one of those charismatic and awesome people I'm glad to be related to. Rick who lived with us for awhile when I was like 5 and became the big brother I never had and a bit of my hero. Sheila who always was kind to me, interested in my (little) world and who had the unfortunate luck of being born in a year where when she was just about to turn 18 they changed the drinking age to 19, then when she was about to be 19 they changed it to 21 and I remember finding that funny. Then there's Connie. Incredibly loyal, kind, and strong and probably possessing one of the most forgiving hearts I've ever seen. I see each of these 'kids' and I can see a piece of my Aunt. It's like they all got a piece of her that they took as their 'thing' and found things of their own to enhance it. I'm so lucky to have been born into this family and even luckier that I've gotten to know this incredible person. A woman who exuded strength and kindness and grace...A woman I really didn't want to listen to when I was younger.
It's those thoughts that have run through my head today.
Wasted time.
As a child I can remember thinking of my Aunt Shirley as someone who didn't like ME. Which is an INSANE idea now and almost foreign for me to even comprehend. My aunt loved me. I know that now but to a young person I think we equate boundaries with lack of love and my Aunt was someone who HAD boundaries for us. She expected me to behave a certain way and whether from being a member of GenX who didn't really diagnose things like ADHD or from just being a spoiled kid I chafed at that notion. So I can remember going through most of my childhood/pre-teens thinking that somehow I didn't measure up for Aunt Shirley. Again...I was an idiot.
She'd give me advice as a child...and I remember thinking that she couldn't possibly know what it was to be me. Her kids were these titans...and I was this screwup. I thought her ideas and suggestions couldn't apply to me cause I was so weird. Again...not weird...just a moron. (Did I mention how idiotic of a kid I was...trying to hit that home here.)
As I grew older though...I started to see things. I noticed that after her relationship with this guy named Roger...she somehow became more empowered. She was this matriarchal type person...and somehow losing a guy she cared about only made her stronger. I saw how she handled being a grandmother...and how she reacted at the loss of one of those grandchildren. The level of grace and just incredible strength she had during that time was inspiring. Then as my father's mother grew older...I watched her and Dad step up. Here they are, I think Dad was in his 50's so she in her 60's...going every day 20 miles to sit with her, advocating for her and eventually having to make the tougher decisions. All those years...I started to realize how incredibly wrong I was. My Aunt's character was one that couldn't be tarnished. She knew her role...and she played it. Yet through all that adversity and trial...she never lost her incredible kindness. Her genuine sweetness and sincerity and idea that the people she surrounded herself with..were genuinely good.
Through my 20's and 30's I started to see my Aunt. We still weren't too tight...but I saw her and I knew she knew more than I gave her credit for.
Then 2012 happened.
13 years ago, I started what I've come to refer to as my 'year of hell'. A time of trial and loss that if I'm honest...almost took me out of this world.
It started with a major shift in my living arrangement. My first marriage hit the skids...and I wasn't prepared. I didn't know how to function and I just became this pinball hitting every bumper I could with no direction just daring the pinball machine to go on tilt. I lost a job, an apartment and a lot of friends. In October of 2012 I had to do the unthinkable and move back in with my parents in their little 2 bedroom apartment. I was 38. I got a job at Best Buy working Geek Squad and felt like a complete loser. When I was 27...I was also living with my parents, and working retail. Legit...I'd hit some sort of temporal reset button and felt like I wasted 10 years of my life.
Looking back now I'm thankful. We didn't know at the time Mom was sick. Moving home, I'd gotten the opportunity to be under her roof again. I had 8 great months of time with my Mom. Time I wouldn't have had with her. Then when the cancer diagnosis came...I was able to be there for her and Dad in a way I never could have as someone's husband.
The other reason I'm thankful...is that's when I got to know my Aunt Shirley.
See my parents had moved into the same apartment complex she had been in. This had the effect of not only letting my Dad see his sister everyday...but also deepening Mom and Aunt Shirley's friendship. She came over almost every day at 11:00 AM to watch Price is Right with Mom and hang out with Dad. They'd laugh, tell stories, catch up on family news and just enjoyed being together.
Believe it or not this filled me with some anxiety. I think in some deep dark place I thought Aunt Shirley really didn't like me. So early on I'd try to stay in my room if I were around when she came over and just didn't want to 'bother' their dynamic. Over time however I started coming out more when she was there. It was fun. It was also when I realized I'd gotten Aunt Shirley wrong.
She was so kind. So understanding. She'd take genuine interest in my life and would try to challenge me to keep trying.
The other thing was she didn't insult my first wife.
This isn't a slam on those who did...but she could see there was still a lot of love for her with me. I didn't want to keep defending her...but if someone started dissing her, I'd feel honor bound to defend her. Aunt Shirley would always speak kindly of her and of me...but say 'you two were just mismatched'. (she was right of course. I'm still good friends with my first wife...a fact I'm proud of to this day).
In those 8 months I got to know my Aunt and truly love her for who she was as a person...not just because she had an 'Aunt' as her prefix.
She was always there. Even through the tough times.
Like the day we got the diagnosis.
I can see it clearly. We were in a family waiting room at General. A smaller room designed for privacy. Me in the corner by the door, Dad next to me. A table and Aunt Shirley in the far corner opposite me. We were on our phones and iPads...and the doctor came in.
Dad asked how the procedure went (Mom had a blocked bile duct and they were going to put a stent in).
The doctor said "Well we tried to put the stent in however with the placement of the Tumor we didn't want to disturb the region so we took a biopsy and closed her up".
I remember this moment. I look next to me and my Dad appeared to be in shock. I looked at my Aunt and she'd put her hand over her mouth.
I looked up to the doctor "Wait...hold on cause I think the word Tumor may have shut my Dad down a second...it's a Tumor...as in Cancer?"
The doctor looks at us and says "Yes. Pancreatic."
So started our four month journey through the rigors of terminal cancer.
In the following weeks and months...Aunt Shirley was there. Almost constantly. Not everyday...but every 'big' moment. She came and sat with Mom when we got the prognosis and had to run to Seneca Falls to tell my sister. She visited Mom when she could up at the hospital. When Mom came home she went back to coming over every day to watch TV. She was with us on the casino trip and she was with us as Mom took her final breath.
She was with US.
Not just Dad...but Betty and I as well.
I've never forgotten that.
In the years that follow I moved away. Chased my heart down the thruway. By that time though...Aunt Shirley had become my hero.
Everytime I got back home, I made sure to make a stop. Almost always last minute but I'd call and say "I'm in town...you up for a visit?" She'd say yes, or 'a short one' and I'd spend an hour or so just listening to her talk. Tell me of her kids, her life and how she's doing. Even one day during COVID when I brought the kids and Wendy back to pick up a kitten that a friend had available...we stopped and said hi through the door.
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