Mo(u)rning

The first day of Advent, and the first day of my challenge to write each day leading up to Christmas. I had a different plan in mind to what I would be writing about, but when life comes at you, you adapt. 

My Aunt died last night. She was my Dad’s sister, the oldest of three. A few years back while I was in Seminary, I got a call in the middle of a class and was told she had a stroke. We didn’t know what that would mean for her in the long run, but my Aunt had always been strong willed and stubborn (a Jones family trait we all carry), so I doubted it would hold her back for long. Unfortunately, over these last eight-or-so years, it lead to a downward spiral of multiple other strokes, medical issues, and memory loss. 

Anyone who has had a family member suffer from memory loss understands that it is almost worse than losing them in some ways; like they are a shell of a person you once knew but now you have to explain to them they haven’t lived in their own home for over five years, not just a few weeks…that you aren’t in grad school anymore, but you are married with a child of your own…

How do you mourn the loss of someone you said goodbye to in your mind so many years ago?

I wish I knew the answer, because honestly all I feel is guilt, regret. Between the pain of not wanting to explain to her that so many years have gone by that she does not have any recollection of (and knowing that in a few hours she won’t remember that conversation), and the personality change, and a myriad of other reasons that pop up in my mind, I guess guarded myself from continuing to invest in that relationship. It was hard and it hurt. 

I saw my Grandfather, while he was still alive, go and visit her often, take her places, bring her food, coax her to family gatherings…when he passed, I don’t know if my Aunt realized that he died, or that he was completely gone. Then my Uncle and Aunt (his wife) were the ones who made sure she was included in family gatherings, went to visit, kept that in person connection. My parents made a pact to call every day, which slowly turned to once a week and then, silence because my Aunt stopped taking their calls. So, I kept my distance. 

The last time I saw and spoke to my Aunt was last Christmas. It had been a few years, but she remembered me as an adult and I think my family made sure to prep her before we got there that I was married and pregnant so she wouldn’t be taken by surprise. I wish I could say that last memory I have of her was a beautiful one where she got to know my husband and we could talk about just normal life again, but it wasn’t. What is burned in my mind from that day, though, was her sitting across the living room from us just looking intently at me, like she was trying so hard to remember where all this time went. 

Because of all the things listed above, I feel odd that I cried at the news my Aunt died. All the memories of my childhood with her came back, that I have not thought about in a long time. She gave me my first Beatles CD. It was their “Greatest Hits” album. She gave it to me because on our way home from an Aunt and Niece outing, we were listening to it in her car and I knew all the words, so she gave it to me and said that I would get more out of it than she would. She gave me my first solo when our family sang at my Grandparents 50th Wedding Anniversary. I was terrified and terrible because you couldn’t even hear me, but she was determined that I had a moment to sing solo. I remember taking an impromptu trip to see my parents while I was in college and drove through the night to get there and called her so someone knew I was on the road in case something happened and she talked to me the majority of the way there. 

These are the things I cherish. My extended distancing from her did not give me room to remember those moments, but now that she is gone from this world, they all come flooding back. 

Speaking to a friend last night, they said, “there will be sunshine in the morning” —ironically is raining here this morning. However, I do believe in sunshine in mourning her. She was a devout follower of Christ and I have no doubt in my mind that she is fully healed and worshiping God in heaven with the rest of our family that went before her. 

This Christmas my extended family is getting together for the first time in, honestly, I don’t know how long. We had our first pseudo reunion at my and Justin’s wedding last year and all of us loved it so much that we didn’t want to lose that. We didn’t expect this news to be the night phone call when we are in the middle of planning our event. Now, we will set a special place for her and our other family members that have passed to love and remember. 

I really don’t know how to wrap this up—I’m sad. I’m tired. I’m really tired. I needed this to process my confused grief. So, thank you for walking through this with me. For those who know all too well what I am feeling, let us thank our family members walking directly with them, and take this season as an opportunity to reconnect with family. 

Love and Blessings, 
Sam

RIP Gina Jones 
October 10, 1955-November 30, 2023