One of the sobering realities of my cadre of Gen-X reaching the half century mark is we've very likely seen death strike close to home. My core group has recently endured a long season of loss. One lifelong friend lost his father this past spring. He and his wife are in California and that his father passed in the Philippines unfortunately only added more stress to his grieving process. Another dear friend lost his stepmother around the same time. While I could only facetime my California bro, I was thankful to be able to share a few beers in person with the other.
This pair of losses dredged up memories for me since both were very close to the anniversary of Dad's death - a time when I'm already in a somber mood.
We've now been notified of my aunt's death - Dad's sister. Unfortunately, because of circumstance, distance, or fate, I never established a relationship with her, and her loss is another link to Dad that's been severed.
Currently, as I write this, Andrea and I are in Auburn after the recent death of her mother. Complicating this time of grief is the necessity of planning for the care of two adult sisters, both with mental limitations, still living at the homestead.
One of these sisters, Marie, is 51 years old, but she has the intellectual capacity of an 8- to 9-year-old. That aside, Marie also has a wicked sharp memory. She can recall the names of people she met only once twenty years prior. Most people I meet are lucky if I remember their names after a mere 20 minutes.
She can be child-like and silly, but Marie can demonstrate a mental acuity that's downright scary.
One conversation took place while running errands around Auburn, and Andrea asked Marie how long she thought the two of us had been together. Marie tilted her head, regarded both of us from the back seat, and declared in her sugary, old south, southern belle voice (think Blanche Dubois from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof) she said. "Y'all have been together thirty-two years."
Now, Andrea and I have been married for twenty-seven years, but the question was "how long we'd been together". That number is indeed thirty-two years. Like I said - scary.
What's fun about Marie is she can utterly roast Andrea, but because of her gentle demeanor, she still comes across as very polite. In that same conversation, after a moment of contemplation, she looked up and declared, "Why, that means Wayne has had to put up with you for a looooooong time! Oh, Wayne, I'm so very sorry! I feel so bad for you."
I unsuccessfully stifled a loud guffaw, and my eyes became saucer wide. I'd became my own "side-glance" meme as I tried to suss Andrea's reaction. Her hand was to her mouth, and she was in some in-between state of shock and rueful amusement, and it took all I had to not let loose a howl of laughter and keep the car in the lane.
Andrea and I being able to hang out with these two sisters of hers these past weeks has been unexpectedly refreshing. They've been a welcome distraction from the task of dealing with Andrea's mom's estate and managed to bring sunshine onto an otherwise dark time.
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