Being There

I got the news that my Uncle John died very early in the morning of March 27th. 

That date is my dad's birthday, so I was already expecting to be sad that day. We found out around the time we were preparing to take Domino to doggie daycare before work. My cousin Mary told me her dad had passed away in the night. She was understandably a wreck. It was unexpected. It was unfair.

My first thought was to get to my mom. I've done that emergency drive to Detroit many times. Her other brother, Joe, died late last year. That's been really hard. No one was prepared for John to leave us this soon too. I didn't want my mom to be alone, so I started throwing things in a bag.

One of the things I find annoying about this phase of life as an older person is that I can't pack light. When my dad was dying in 2015, I literally threw a few pieces of clothing that were lying around my room into a backpack, and drove. Now there is the CPAP machine to dismantle and organize in its case or sleep will be impossible. There are blood pressure pills that I need to remember. There is my retainer (because I am apparently 15 again in some ways, but unfortunately none of those ways are my knees). There is lotion for my eyelids because out of nowhere last year that's where I developed eczema. There is my phone and its charging cord. There is my laptop and its cord. Those are now the essentials (assuming I'm wearing a good enough bra).

And if I have the time and the room after packing basic clothes, I need my gym bag which has everything in it from a toothbrush to deodorant to the shampoo and face-wash I like, a blanket that's somewhere between warm and cool (because I no longer operate at a comfortable consistent temperature), my buckwheat husk pillow, an instrument and whatever music I'm supposed to be practicing, a book to read, a book to edit, and if I'm super lucky I try to bring something like a scroll to carve.

I regretted not bringing my viola with me when my dad died. For this trip, in addition to my essentials, I made a point of grabbing my viola and a folder of music. I grabbed performance/funeral clothes, including the right shoes. I did bring my gym bag because it happened to be by the door. I made poor selections when shoving general clothes in a bag and have already had to pick up underwear from CVS since arriving in Michigan. I forgot pajamas. I decided to live on the wild side and not take my blanket and pillow. After a really bad night of sleep, I ordered a new pillow. (It's a weird crunchy thing I decided to try several years ago and now can't live without, and my kids are also addicted to the same type of pillow and bring it when they travel as well.) It arrived promptly and I slept much better last night.

The last thing I had to make a decision about before leaving Milwaukee on short notice, was the dog. The sensible choice would be to leave the dog. I had no idea how long I'd be gone or how inconvenient she would make things. But she looked at me and I looked at her, and I decided to bring her for purely selfish reasons. I was sad. Domino makes me happy. I scooped up the dog. (Which meant also throwing together a bag with food, dishes, toys, treats...)

There was a phone discussion with my brothers about who should tell Mom her brother had died, when to let her know I was on the way, etc. 

The greatest gift to me on this dark day of haphazard planning was that my daughter, Mona, offered to come along. Aden and Quinn are at their respective colleges, and we have a plan to collect them and bring them to Ohio for the upcoming funeral, but Mona lives above the violin store. We stopped there for me to give Ian instructions on the day's appointments, and she came down with a bag packed and ready to go. (She packs light, but she still brought her pillow.)

Mona and I hit the road. The dog curled up in the backseat on her bed. Somehow Domino always knows when it's a short trip or a long haul.

Perfect weather, but there was an inexplicable number of vehicles having problems on the side of the highway. We talked. We answered texts and calls. We listened to music on whatever CDs were in the car. We stopped to empty the dog and fill the tank. I bought gloves at the Indiana Visitor Center because they were only $4 and why not. We arrived by early afternoon and took turns hugging my mom.

In some situations there is not much you can do beyond being there. But being there is important.

I had a discussion about this with my kids not long ago.

We went to my mom's for Christmas, and I said we should also go down to Ohio for New Year's to see our relatives there if John and Charlotte would have us. John and Charlotte always have us. Turns out they were also hosting a giant (20 people?) football watching party with a sit down steak dinner on New Year's Eve that they failed to mention, but they didn't hesitate to fold us into all of that. We had a wonderful visit, and when we left John looked so sad. He thought we would be there an extra full day, but we needed to drive my mom back to Michigan before we could return to Milwaukee. 

Life is busy, travel is long, John understood. But he genuinely wanted all of us to stay longer. I told him we were overdue to spend real time in Ohio and would plan a trip for this summer. We tend to visit Ohio on the way to and from places like New York, but we wanted a dedicated Ohio trip to meet up with old friends and spend unhurried days in Marysville. John loved the idea. I'm glad I got to tell him I loved him and to hug him goodbye. You never know when the last time you'll see someone might be.

In January, my brother Barrett had a trip to Detroit planned with his son. My brother Arno decided to overlap with that visit and bring his daughter. I heard this and realized all five cousins had not been in one place since 2015 when Barrett's son was four months old and we were gathered for the death of my dad. 

We'd just done that whole trip for Christmas, but I told my kids we should go back out to Detroit for a day. I didn't want to impose all of us on their plans, but we had a place to stay downtown through a friend so we'd be out of the way, and we could gather the kids all together with their grandmother for an afternoon and maybe dinner. It was a lot, but it was more than worth it. Mona doesn't like to take time away from her work, so I knew she'd be a hard sell on another trip so soon, but I told her it mattered. I don't ask much, so I was asking this. She didn't argue.

Because it can't be the case that we only see each other at funerals (and possibly weddings). There has to be time to be together that is normal. There has to be space to build connections and get to know each other and have fun in an environment that doesn't require special clothes.

I used to take my kids out to New York for Easters with their cousin, and she would come out to our cottage in the summer. Things changed with the pandemic and as everyone got older, and staying in touch has gotten harder. Getting people together takes work.

A lot of that work used to be carried by my grandmother. She was a center of family activity. We all met in her home and ate at her table. My childhood memories are filled with visits to her house where we saw our aunts and uncles and cousins. That's been more difficult to arrange with her gone. John's house was the closest to that in terms of being a crossroads for lots of family.

I've tried very hard to make visits happen. It doesn't always work. But I want for my kids to have those family connections. I want them to know their relatives, not just hear stories about them, or be saddled with a vague sense of obligation based on family ties instead of love. It's a lot of work, a lot of driving, and a lot of scheduling, but being there makes a difference.

On the drive to my mom's, I was telling random stories about all kinds of people in my life and where I grew up. I needed to talk to keep myself from crying. We talked about what we loved about John.

And then Mona thanked me. She told me she appreciates my making family visits happen. She's grateful we got to see Uncle John one last time at New Year's. She's glad she got to spend time with all her cousins together in Detroit.

She knows it's important to be with one another other than at funerals. It's a rare moment to feel both appreciated as a mom, and also that I did good job being one.

Mona drove herself back to Milwaukee the next day. She had an appointment to make and it helps Ian to have the car available to get him and the kids to Ohio. Mona was here for the parts where she was most needed, and she will be back. She knows the value of being there for those she loves. That makes me proud.