Remembering the Little Blue House
So this is a safe space, right? I thought I was good; that could jump back into writing and make this my thing like I had been trying to for so long. But then the summer of '22 happened and my heart was broken, reality was replaced with a cruel duality. And for the first time, I knew what it meant to be truly devastated. Which is something strange for a woman who went through a divorce to say. But the disintegration of my marriage … if I’m honest seemed inevitable. However, the death of my aunt, something that, while every human must go through, seemed such an impossibility, that when it happened my brain couldn’t grasp it.
Florida is home, it’s where the roots of my family tree are planted and as long as I have been alive there was an Auntie Mable. The last of the original 14 children who make up the foundation of my family tree. The sister of my grandmother’s mother. The baby girl, the historian. So when she got sick it was automatic that Mom and I go down south. I think in my head I thought I would care for her and she would be back on her feet. That everything would go back to normal. But of course, that wasn’t the case. And it wasn’t until I walked into the house and saw just how small she was that I understood what the assignment really was.
When we grow up with pillars and constants in our lives, the elders become like giants. Bigger than life if you will. So to see my aunt, this woman, who in all of her 97 years, I never saw slow down immobile it was as if I was in another dimension. This wasn’t my Auntie, not the one who, just a month ago was speeding down old Hwy 29 on her way to visit the old community of Century, who would send packages of sweaters I never wore and pecans from her tree( which if I remember correctly hasn't really produced fruit in years). Walking into her home and seeing her so small sent a shock to my system. She looked tiny, a fraction of the woman she once was. She looked as if she was drawing in the hospital bed, surrounded by pillows that threatened to engulf her. It was then that the reality of what this was hit me. That there was no coming back from this. That this was goodbye and I was lucky to be able to have this opportunity.
Time is a funny thing, while I have experienced death before I don’t think I have ever grieved, not truly. When my grams passed I was 14, and while my everything was different life just….continued. She was here one moment then gone and once everyone paid their respects, it was just me and mom. Sadly strangers, just two lost daughters that had to keep going. We’ll go deeper into that transition in another story. The point here is that this past year of grief was not only for Auntie, it was for grams, for grandpa, for college, for my marriage, for the children that never were, for lost innocence and hidden terrors I have never shared. I screamed, I cried, I mourned, I broke down and moaned like the women in church laying it all at the altar. But more importantly I released. And in these moments is when the healing really began. For a solid year I was unable to write to put into words what this was. I’ve had drafts after drafts started but nothing felt right. I tried to rush the process but the Divine doesn’t work on our time line. I want to thank you all for being on this journey with me, of growth and understanding. I’ll try my best not to be gone for so long again but honestly who knows what life will bring.
Me 2018 in from of the blue house
Myself and Auntie Pensacola FL, 2021
The last family reunion
Auntie Mable, cousin Kendal ( yellow barrettes, and me (red ribbon)
Auntie Mable and Uncle Herman
