HOME | DD

Description
“Whoever said that loss gets easier with time was a liar. Here's what really happens: The spaces between the times you miss them grow longer. Then, when you do remember to miss them again, it's still with a stabbing pain to the heart. And you have guilt. Guilt because it's been too long since you missed them last.” ― (Kristin O'Donnell Tubb, The 13th Sign)

* * * *
One thing you should know about me, is that I have thick skin, and a thicker skull most would say. I am considered a more "old fashioned" kind of person, saying saying "yes ma'am" and "yes sir" even today. I could be brutally honest at times, but a good friend and confidant none the less. I was the kind of kid who wouldn't start a fight, but i'd sure as hell finish one, especially when it came to keeping my word or defending my honor from bullies and sometimes my own family.

I was the most stubborn, bull headed woman you'd meet. Sometimes it was a blessing, other times a curse, to be bound by honor and the value of your word. I would've sooner bathed in pure alcohol after being drug behind a truck in a field of barbed wire, than to go back on my word. It was one thing that any one i considered a friend could count on.

Even today, having any decent word or honor is a rarity, found in the remnants of a dying breed. However, I digress..

As a kid, i really never cried that much, having to live with men my whole life after the divorce, with nothing but brothers and male cousins, you had to learn to be one of the guys, and according to my father and uncles, you didn't show emotion, it was a sign of "weakness" and overall undesirable in their eyes.
Oh how I used those words to try and shape my life to belong, no matter the personal cost; to a kid who was pretty much an outcast, you'd crave the feeling of comradery, to feel like you belonged somewhere in this huge world. If that meant being an emotionless, robot, a vulcan if you want a clearer picture, then that was the price i was willing to pay to feel like i belonged.

Despite all of this, i found the one place that i felt that i could belong.

And strangely enough, I found this sense of peace with a great aunt of mine, an outcast, like myself, My Aunt 'Nita'.

Nita was an interesting character, an old soul herself, despite being labeled as a "crazy old bat" by my family, she had the spunk and mischievous nature of a nineteen year old girl with her best friend, I found her company soothing, a place i could show emotion and not harassed or face the scorn and disapproving eyes of my father.

We spent many years interacting with each other, developing a close knit bond, as she grew older, i enjoyed helping her around the house, cooking her meals and everyday life. Despite all the time spent, I was her sole visitor, in spite of the fact of her living within 100 feet of my grandmother and my two aunts' homes, that were always occupied with visitors.

They saw her as a pest, a parasite on the family, a waste of their time. I wasn't much better in their eyes it seemed.

As I got older, i developed a green thumb I never knew i had and learned about raising and maintaining roses. I invested and stayed predominantly with roses because my great aunts favorite flower was a rose, and I learned her favorite color was purple, lavender to be precise. I silently promised to raise a lavender rose bush just so i could surprise her with lavender roses, for any rainy day occasion or a surprise visit.

* * * *

Even more years passed and my time spent grew shorter and shorter, I tried to make sure i always visited at least every week if not more when i could.

Finally it was time for me to go check on the rose bush i had nurtured for nearly eight years, bringing my small hand shears to trim away the undesirable flaws that i might find.

As I was trimming roses from my coveted lavender rose bush, I got the call on that cold March evening, my great aunt, my closest friend, had just passed.

I couldn’t help the burning tears that ran down my cheeks in mournful silence. Nothing seemed to matter to me anymore, not school, nor the sharp thorns pricking at my fingers as I clenched my hand around the thorny stems of the roses.

My thoughts lingered on our last moments with each other earlier, a bittersweet, hasty goodbye, promises of returning tomorrow; only tomorrow would never come.

* * * *

Around 3 p.m., I had walked into the care facility where my family had left my aunt, tired from a long and hard days work. I made my way along the complex corridor of rooms, looking for the right set of numbers that signaled her floor and room. I never enjoyed the strange, yet pungent scent of hospitals or nursing homes, they always smelled of industrial cleaners only partially masking the odors of disease, sickness and death.

As I reached her room, a frazzled looking orderly with silver streaks in her dull brown hair, notified me that my aunt was in the recreation room across the hall.

Tentatively, I walked into the room, half expecting a massive bingo game unfolding among the elderly residents, as they portrayed on their propaganda flyers, rather I saw only three patrons, two older gentlemen playing a rather complex game of chess, and my aunt, who stared off into space, clearly thinking of better days, judging by the look in her eyes. Thinking of the days that didn't require her to be in this makeshift prison against her will.

“Hey ‘Nita,” I smile as I walk over and touch her shoulder gently to let her know I was there, putting on a worry free facade, not wanting her to see just how worn out I truly was.

“Oh! You're here!” She exclaims, sporting a toothless grin, as she draws me into a tight bear hug.

“Sorry I’m late,” I shrugged sheepishly.

“Lost track of the time huh?” She chuckles.

I notice a fresh scratch on her forehead, “Nita, have you been boxing those nurses again?” I ask jokingly.

“Oh, that... No, I tripped and hit a chair..”

I wink at her, “Okay.. Just make sure you keep those nurses in line, they can be quite feisty..”

We both laugh heartily until the same orderly from before shushed us and told us that we were ‘disturbing the other residents’.

After an hour and a half of playing several board games like Connect Four and Mouse Trap, my mother came in to take me home, promising to bring me back tomorrow, so that I could spend the entire day with my aunt.

With tears pricking at my cheeks, I reluctantly said my goodbyes and promised on my honor to come back to visit the next day.

Needless to say, I never got to visit.

“Mom, come on. You promised I could go see ‘Nita today!” I harassed my mother for what seemed like the sixth or seventh time that day, and it was still before 2.

“The nurses say that ‘Nita’ can’t have any visitors today, she’s feeling sick and has a cough.” My mother says impatiently, clearly irritated and hoping that by giving me a straight answer would make me leave.

“So what? It’s not like some stupid cough is going to make me break my promise-”

“I’m not arguing with you about this. The nurses and I say ‘No’. It’s not happening today. You can see her some other time.” She grumbles and puts her hands on her hips, glaring her signature 'I'm mom and what i say is law' glare, signifying to me that I won't get anywhere arguing with her.

I remember the bile rising in my throat and anger swelling in my chest. This was so typical for my mother, to promise something and never follow through. However, I had no other options, I had no phone, nor phone number to contact my aunt, and no ways or means to get there.

I had planned on visiting her, and surprising my aunt with those lavender roses that I had spent so much time raising to apologize for being late.

* * * *

I hung up the phone and numbly, I release the roses from my crushing grip, letting them cascade to the ground. I watch the blood well up from my fresh wounds, and yet I felt no physical pain.

The funeral came and went, my family members who formerly treated her like a plague ridden monster, fought over ‘Nita’s possessions like spoiled children in a daycare center.
It disgusted me to my very core. They had treated this woman as a hassle, a waste of their “oh so precious time”. And now that she was dead, she was somehow “the greatest aunt ever” as they cackled and ransacked her belongings, trying to find anything that would or could be pawned off for easy money.

These actions just rubbed salt into the fresh wounds of loss. I had been the one to take care of my aunt for well over a decade, and yet, they act the part they never played. I thought family had more morals than that, but I realize I was wrong.

I had believed that losing someone would fade over time, but I know now that this is a lie.

Loss will never be easy, nor will it be painless as long as love still remains in one’s heart.

The only thing that will ever hurt more than loss is the feeling of love, both a comfort and a painful, lingering sense of regret of words you never got to say.

I only hoped long afterwards that i would find someone to help me feel human again, to bring me back out of the emotionless shell with a smiling mask that i crawled back into.

Because I feared that I too, would end up dying alone, without a friend by my side. That my family would be standing around impatiently over my grave as I was lowered into the ground, because that is what you do at funerals. A fear that once I was six feet under, they'd tear through my belongings and ransack my home to find hidden valuables and destroy memories that were there just for a few bucks at the local pawn shop.

In a way, I still fear for that day.

But I've learned to stop worrying about what could be and live in what is.

Description
“Whoever said that loss gets easier with time was a liar. Here's what really happens: The spaces between the times you miss them grow longer. Then, when you do remember to miss them again, it's still with a stabbing pain to the heart. And you have guilt. Guilt because it's been too long since you missed them last.” ― (Kristin O'Donnell Tubb, The 13th Sign)

* * * *
One thing you should know about me, is that I have thick skin, and a thicker skull most would say. I am considered a more "old fashioned" kind of person, saying saying "yes ma'am" and "yes sir" even today. I could be brutally honest at times, but a good friend and confidant none the less. I was the kind of kid who wouldn't start a fight, but i'd sure as hell finish one, especially when it came to keeping my word or defending my honor from bullies and sometimes my own family.

I was the most stubborn, bull headed woman you'd meet. Sometimes it was a blessing, other times a curse, to be bound by honor and the value of your word. I would've sooner bathed in pure alcohol after being drug behind a truck in a field of barbed wire, than to go back on my word. It was one thing that any one i considered a friend could count on.

Even today, having any decent word or honor is a rarity, found in the remnants of a dying breed. However, I digress..

As a kid, i really never cried that much, having to live with men my whole life after the divorce, with nothing but brothers and male cousins, you had to learn to be one of the guys, and according to my father and uncles, you didn't show emotion, it was a sign of "weakness" and overall undesirable in their eyes.
Oh how I used those words to try and shape my life to belong, no matter the personal cost; to a kid who was pretty much an outcast, you'd crave the feeling of comradery, to feel like you belonged somewhere in this huge world. If that meant being an emotionless, robot, a vulcan if you want a clearer picture, then that was the price i was willing to pay to feel like i belonged.

Despite all of this, i found the one place that i felt that i could belong.

And strangely enough, I found this sense of peace with a great aunt of mine, an outcast, like myself, My Aunt 'Nita'.

Nita was an interesting character, an old soul herself, despite being labeled as a "crazy old bat" by my family, she had the spunk and mischievous nature of a nineteen year old girl with her best friend, I found her company soothing, a place i could show emotion and not harassed or face the scorn and disapproving eyes of my father.

We spent many years interacting with each other, developing a close knit bond, as she grew older, i enjoyed helping her around the house, cooking her meals and everyday life. Despite all the time spent, I was her sole visitor, in spite of the fact of her living within 100 feet of my grandmother and my two aunts' homes, that were always occupied with visitors.

They saw her as a pest, a parasite on the family, a waste of their time. I wasn't much better in their eyes it seemed.

As I got older, i developed a green thumb I never knew i had and learned about raising and maintaining roses. I invested and stayed predominantly with roses because my great aunts favorite flower was a rose, and I learned her favorite color was purple, lavender to be precise. I silently promised to raise a lavender rose bush just so i could surprise her with lavender roses, for any rainy day occasion or a surprise visit.

* * * *

Even more years passed and my time spent grew shorter and shorter, I tried to make sure i always visited at least every week if not more when i could.

Finally it was time for me to go check on the rose bush i had nurtured for nearly eight years, bringing my small hand shears to trim away the undesirable flaws that i might find.

As I was trimming roses from my coveted lavender rose bush, I got the call on that cold March evening, my great aunt, my closest friend, had just passed.

I couldn’t help the burning tears that ran down my cheeks in mournful silence. Nothing seemed to matter to me anymore, not school, nor the sharp thorns pricking at my fingers as I clenched my hand around the thorny stems of the roses.

My thoughts lingered on our last moments with each other earlier, a bittersweet, hasty goodbye, promises of returning tomorrow; only tomorrow would never come.

* * * *

Around 3 p.m., I had walked into the care facility where my family had left my aunt, tired from a long and hard days work. I made my way along the complex corridor of rooms, looking for the right set of numbers that signaled her floor and room. I never enjoyed the strange, yet pungent scent of hospitals or nursing homes, they always smelled of industrial cleaners only partially masking the odors of disease, sickness and death.

As I reached her room, a frazzled looking orderly with silver streaks in her dull brown hair, notified me that my aunt was in the recreation room across the hall.

Tentatively, I walked into the room, half expecting a massive bingo game unfolding among the elderly residents, as they portrayed on their propaganda flyers, rather I saw only three patrons, two older gentlemen playing a rather complex game of chess, and my aunt, who stared off into space, clearly thinking of better days, judging by the look in her eyes. Thinking of the days that didn't require her to be in this makeshift prison against her will.

“Hey ‘Nita,” I smile as I walk over and touch her shoulder gently to let her know I was there, putting on a worry free facade, not wanting her to see just how worn out I truly was.

“Oh! You're here!” She exclaims, sporting a toothless grin, as she draws me into a tight bear hug.

“Sorry I’m late,” I shrugged sheepishly.

“Lost track of the time huh?” She chuckles.

I notice a fresh scratch on her forehead, “Nita, have you been boxing those nurses again?” I ask jokingly.

“Oh, that... No, I tripped and hit a chair..”

I wink at her, “Okay.. Just make sure you keep those nurses in line, they can be quite feisty..”

We both laugh heartily until the same orderly from before shushed us and told us that we were ‘disturbing the other residents’.

After an hour and a half of playing several board games like Connect Four and Mouse Trap, my mother came in to take me home, promising to bring me back tomorrow, so that I could spend the entire day with my aunt.

With tears pricking at my cheeks, I reluctantly said my goodbyes and promised on my honor to come back to visit the next day.

Needless to say, I never got to visit.

“Mom, come on. You promised I could go see ‘Nita today!” I harassed my mother for what seemed like the sixth or seventh time that day, and it was still before 2.

“The nurses say that ‘Nita’ can’t have any visitors today, she’s feeling sick and has a cough.” My mother says impatiently, clearly irritated and hoping that by giving me a straight answer would make me leave.

“So what? It’s not like some stupid cough is going to make me break my promise-”

“I’m not arguing with you about this. The nurses and I say ‘No’. It’s not happening today. You can see her some other time.” She grumbles and puts her hands on her hips, glaring her signature 'I'm mom and what i say is law' glare, signifying to me that I won't get anywhere arguing with her.

I remember the bile rising in my throat and anger swelling in my chest. This was so typical for my mother, to promise something and never follow through. However, I had no other options, I had no phone, nor phone number to contact my aunt, and no ways or means to get there.

I had planned on visiting her, and surprising my aunt with those lavender roses that I had spent so much time raising to apologize for being late.

* * * *

I hung up the phone and numbly, I release the roses from my crushing grip, letting them cascade to the ground. I watch the blood well up from my fresh wounds, and yet I felt no physical pain.

The funeral came and went, my family members who formerly treated her like a plague ridden monster, fought over ‘Nita’s possessions like spoiled children in a daycare center.
It disgusted me to my very core. They had treated this woman as a hassle, a waste of their “oh so precious time”. And now that she was dead, she was somehow “the greatest aunt ever” as they cackled and ransacked her belongings, trying to find anything that would or could be pawned off for easy money.

These actions just rubbed salt into the fresh wounds of loss. I had been the one to take care of my aunt for well over a decade, and yet, they act the part they never played. I thought family had more morals than that, but I realize I was wrong.

I had believed that losing someone would fade over time, but I know now that this is a lie.

Loss will never be easy, nor will it be painless as long as love still remains in one’s heart.

The only thing that will ever hurt more than loss is the feeling of love, both a comfort and a painful, lingering sense of regret of words you never got to say.

I only hoped long afterwards that i would find someone to help me feel human again, to bring me back out of the emotionless shell with a smiling mask that i crawled back into.

Because I feared that I too, would end up dying alone, without a friend by my side. That my family would be standing around impatiently over my grave as I was lowered into the ground, because that is what you do at funerals. A fear that once I was six feet under, they'd tear through my belongings and ransack my home to find hidden valuables and destroy memories that were there just for a few bucks at the local pawn shop.

In a way, I still fear for that day.

But I've learned to stop worrying about what could be and live in what is.