LOL

The youngest of 5 siblings by at least 10 years, my parents had lived an entire lifetime before I decided to show up shortly after the blizzard of 1978. Born into a multidimensional family, I got a quick tutorial on the who, what, when, where, and why of all of our “relatives” through the many family parties I was dragged to. “Who is Freddie?” I would ask. “Why is there metallic wallpaper on everything?” I thought to myself. I just shrugged and blended in with whatever house I went to, always hoping it was a place with a pool for those summer events.

The older I got and the harder I tried to create an image of my family tree, the more I realized that we were less arboreal and more shrubby. “So Auntie Pat and Uncle Ray are not your sister and brother but we still call them Auntie and Uncle?” I’m sure I asked Mom at some point. “And I’m not really related to Lori, Michael, Janine, Matthew, Pat, Nancy, or Susan but they’re my “cousins”?” Embracing the confusion was better than fighting it. Moreover, most of these people always had some kind of candy and/or dog at their houses so I always scored. In fact, I believe it was Uncle Ray who once did the Heimlich on me when a butterscotch got lodged in my throat at his house. Over the years, I learned how Grammy (Auntie Pat and Uncle Ray’s mother) took Mom in when she was 18 or 19 and needed a stable home, how Auntie Pat was and is one of Mom’s best friends and has always been one to buck the system, how Uncle Ray and Auntie Helen used to come play cards with Mom and Dad in the Roslindale days, and how Grammy’s son David (Auntie Pat and Uncle Ray’s brother) died tragically at the age of 12 or 13. Eyes and ears always open, I absorbed so much from these connections. I liked my family shrubland, it made absolutely no sense to me but I didn’t care at all.

On Monday, we found out that Uncle Ray had passed. The funeral arrangements unfolded with the week and plans for attending the services with Mom while someone stayed behind with Dad were made among my siblings. Mom told Dad about Uncle Ray at dinner on Monday night. “He did??” he said “My god. That’s a shock.” Living with progressive dementia over the past several years has been hard on all of us, not just Dad. When someone dies, I become acutely aware of how much Mom has to carry on her own these days, including grief. Sure Dad feels and expresses the immediate shock and sadness but the process of grieving is left to Mom. Less than a month ago, we lost Eddie (Ginny’s husband. Ginny is Mom’s cousin and therefore my cousin but she’s much more like an Aunt to me and I’m very close to her children Ned and Kate, my second cousins. See? Shrubland). Distraught and upset by Eddie’s passing, Mom said “We’re all going to start falling like tenpins.” She is, after all, Irish and the Irish have a sixth sense when it comes to death. She is also 87 and has earned the right to discuss the end with whomever wishes to listen.

“Even though it’s not really sad when an old person dies, it is sad.” Mom said in the car as we followed the procession from the church to the cemetery with the aid of a Boston Police escort (Uncle Ray was a Sergeant). “Suddenly things you haven’t thought about in years come into focus and you think about all the things you’ve done together. And then you see all the people you did those things with and we’re all old.” She was right. I saw Richard and Nancy, the ones whose St. Bernard Brandy (was that the name?) used to slobber all over everything but I never minded because, well, dog. They, like my Mom, have gotten older and depend on their kids for help as Mom and Dad do too. At the gravesite, Mom walked away from us and I wondered where she was going. Then I saw her push aside Matthew to link arms with Auntie Pat. I cried as I watched Lori and Janine see this too, Lori now with beautiful white hair. Their Mom and our Mom, friends for more than 70 years, grieving not just the passing of their brother but their past. Great, now I’m crying while I’m writing. Deep breath. The gun salute went off as tears fell onto my purple Lululemon mask and my pesky runny nose flowed freely. The last time I remember Mom linking arms with Auntie Pat was when she saw her walking down the church aisle alone after Grammy’s funeral mass and she pushed past me to join her best friend in the procession out. Those are two moments in my life when time stood a little more still to show me what love is really all about.

As we walked from the gravesite to the car, we ensured Mom made it over the unsteady ground without incident. “Oh I know, I know! Watch out. Little old lady coming through!” she said, frustrated by all the fuss around her just walking the earth. “You know, I see Auntie Pat and I think ‘she looks just like a little old lady’. Then I think…do I look like a little old lady???” she said to me. “Well, Mom, you’re little, you’re old, and you are a lady. Ha! You and Auntie Pat are LOLs!” I said to her. We laughed because it’s true. Later at the luncheon, more tears were shed and laughter was shared; we realized that it had been just too long that we had spent any time together. Matthew declared “I think the Gillis’ need the Pauls and the Pauls need the Gillis’.” With that, a “cousins” dinner plan was born and my little family shrubland has something to look forward to. When we got home after everything, Mom was emotional, even emotional over Covid. “I just don’t care anymore.” she said. “What’s the point of everything if we can’t have anything to look forward to and do? I’m just so tired of all of it. Covid this, Covid that. We’re all dying anyways. I just want things to be easier. Better.” With that, Isaac walked in with a giant Lego contraption that he had created and plopped his head on my shoulder. “We choose our own joy or our own misery.” I had said to Mom earlier in the day. “How can you not choose to see joy with this kid around everyday?” Mom wiped her eyes with the very same tissue she had been using since the funeral. I gave her a hug and promised her that there’s still lots to look forward to—I always try to make good on my promises.

“J.D., go give Nana a hug.” I said to my oldest “little” guy. “Um, why?” he asked. “Because Nana could use a hug. She’s had a tough day and needs a hug from her grandson.” J.D. got up, walked into the kitchen, and gave Mom a big hug, leaning over to do so because he’s just so big now. That, of course, got Mom going again, then me, then J.D. He’s a very sensitive boy and I have always said that he and Mom are cut from the very same cloth. I put my left arm around J.D., my right around Mom. “Nana’s reached that age when they “start dropping like flies” and she doesn’t like it one bit.” I explained to J.D. Now that I have had time to process the past 24 hours, I can say with certainty that my kids are so fortunate to be dancing in the light of sunrise and sunset everyday. There is no greater education they can gain than right here in this messy little house. Someday, with any luck, I will be that LOL that they’re guiding through family events with care. I hope that when and if that happens, I remember Mom saying how past times come into focus at wakes and funerals. Although she labeled that as “sad” yesterday, I am going to go ahead and label it as love out loud, LOL. What a lucky human I am to have been born into this confusing yet loving family shrubland.