Missing an Aunt

I have an Auntie. She is awesome, has always been there for me. Always. She is my mothers sister. We are as much alike as we are different. I’m sure the portions of me that drive my mother insane are probably the same parts that drive her crazy about her sister. She has been at every event in my life. EVERY ONE. Was there at the birth of my child, sorta, in a afraid of blood and gore way, I stepped out side but came right back in for the good parts kind of way. Was at my wedding on another continent mind you. She has wiped up more of my messes, including but not limited to the destruction of a car. I love her so, I wish I could give her the grandchildren she wants. Her son , my cousin is not being cooperative in this endeavor. She is the auntie I want to be to my current nephews and any additional nieces and nephews my sister and brother see fit to provide for me to spoil.

However, this post is not about her.

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My father’s baby sister is much closer in age to me, not more than five or six years older than me, give or take. I remember a lot about my childhood, and I remember meeting my aunt Patty for the first time. It might have been Christmas, my father’s father was never really around. We saw him on Christmas, he gave us gloves and monopoly every year for as long as I could remember. He volunteered to drive Santa in a parade every year back then and he would bring the Santa by our house, or he was Santa, I can’t remember either way, it was cool at first, then teen hormones kicked in and it was cheesy. One year we went to his house instead of him coming by and my dad was like, go say hi to your aunt Patty. I remember walking into her room and thinking, wow she was COOL. She had her OWN ROOM!!! this was a major thing for me back then. I shared a room with my sister and brother. She was the kind of girl I wanted to be and really just wasn’t. Her room was LAYERED in pink, and while I wasn’t fond of the color, or the barbies, or the canopy over the bed, in a way I was, maybe because it was clear who she was. She was more like my mom, and sister and auntie, than I was. Just for background sake I mention that I have always pictured myself the black sheep. if you line up the women in my family, I am always the one that sticks out. Not in a bad way mind you – but in teen thinking, being different in anyway is always bad.

Anyway she was the big sister I always wanted and she, I guess, enjoyed the mild worship little sisters offer, and we began the relationship we have today. She was the model big sister, she was the kind of girl I want to raise Cammy to be – small tweaks permitted, including but not limited to large doses of her Auntie – you know, the kind of kid I hope to hire as a babysitter for Cammy, someone she can admire and be the stand in when your parents become to uncool for you to want to be like. She reinforced all the lessons my parents taught me, and made them stick. and she did it in limited time frame, until I was sixteen and had a car and she had an apartment we didn’t exactly see each other often, but she made sure i knew what she wanted me to know, she was never afraid to tell me the things she wanted me to know.

The most precious of those was to value myself, more specifically my virginity. While I gave it to someone when I seventeen, she made me value it, more than any possession I had or have ever had. It was my own personal treasure to be cherished and given as a gift, before I met my high school love, the plan she and I formed had been to give it as a marriage gift. But youth and all the things that go with it made me “know” that I loved him and he and I were going to marry, eventually.

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I put know in quotes not to disrespect my teen angst or lessen the love I felt for him. Because I did love him. And we had planned on marrying. We dated for close to eight years.I put it in quotes because I wish I knew then what I know now. I believe if I hadn’t slept with him, we probably would have broken up at year three or four. Shes the reason my “list” is real real short. I’m getting side tracked. She, however has always shown a determination to stick to the plan in all areas of her life. Marrying the same year i did – roughly a week after I did- we found ourselves sharing so many things, and I found myself wishing she lived closer and maybe we would be friends perhaps our husbands could find some common ground besides us.

But now a year later we only speak to each other in passing emails. She has gone to still do things I envy like a little sister, and I sit back and wait for her to miss me.

Someone who I had hoped would be a wonderful influence on my child has met her once. We share no stories of marriage, none of the laughter of newlyweds. I regret to say I don’t think I know her anymore. And I find that sad in the most heart wrenching way. It is not the distance, we have always had to contend with distance, it is the silence. And should she stumble across my name in a Google search I just want her to know – I miss you.