Memories and Tiaras

At work today, one of my very young coworkers was talking about how 10 weeks is "like forever." I laughed at first as the older I get, the quicker time runs away from me. Further solidifying that idea, when I got home tonight, instead of writing articles on emotional affairs or unlocking the inner goddess, I procrastinated by going through some old pictures. That's when it truly hit me how quickly things can change.

Tomorrow would have been my cousin Dave's birthday. It has been eight months since he passed away, so young and far too, too early. I don't know why but tonight I decided to procrastinate work by looking through the beautiful film that my sister compiled of pictures throughout David's life, set to music chosen by her professional sound styling coordinator (that's me).

There's a picture in there from my 30th birthday party, only five short years ago. The picture shows not only Dave who was taken from us too early, but his mom--my ineffable, highly organized and totally wonderful Aunt Maggie--who's been gone for more than two years. It also shows my spunky and original Aunt Marge. Aunt Marge of the enduring bun (when I was small, I was convinced she was born with her hair that way and that gale force winds could not ruffle or disturb it), the same woman who could do the breaststroke without disturbing her hair or her jewels, suffered a stroke and now words come so difficult, when they flowed so much easier before.

The one from the picture who remains and is mostly unchanged from that sunny and funny day is my crazy, adorable, and maddening uncle, aka Unk. In the pic, he is using Aunt Maggie's head for a coaster and I'm pretty sure the picture was snapped just before she jabbed him in the gut. My dear, complicated Unk who now alternates between sweetly calling to check up on me and to lay on the guilt about when I'm stopping by next.

Five years doesn't seem like long enough of a time for all these things to have happened but that is how life is. Rather than feeling the loss though, I'm left with a bittersweet feeling of wanting to be grateful that I am blessed with the presence of a large, loud, and loving family. I had thought by the time I was my age I'd be surrounded by a family of my own. You know, the traditional nuclear type family with 2.4 kids, a husband, and SUV filled with soccer equipment. The thing is, I am surrounded by a family of my own. True, it is different than I imagined but although I have no children of my own to emotionally scar with bizarre nicknames and crazy fairy tales, I feel lucky to live so close to and be in such close contact with my family. We are there for each other in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. And death doesn't part us, it just makes it harder for those of us left behind to see the love coming down from the angels we have lost.

So, although  I dearly miss those we have lost either from death or losing them slowly to thieving illnesses like Alzheimer's disease, I will look at those pictures and remember the good times. Remember the fact that I still have the tiara that I wore that day at my party, proclaiming my 30-ness (and that I still wear when I clean the house sometimes and once accidentally while walking Charlie). Remember the crazy amount of sangria that we had that day and how a lot of the other memories are happy but blurry. Remember all of the other times and more than remember, I'll be ready to make more memories as we go. For although there are plenty of times when I would love to staple things to various family members' heads, I have to admit that I love those crazy people and wouldn't trade them for all the world.