Michael J. Fox was quoted as saying something that seems so common sense for me that it’s almost absurd, as follows: “Family is not an important thing, it’s everything.” This sentiment is an easy one for me. I know that you may remind me that not everyone has a family and to that end, not everyone has a good family or a decent relationship with their family. I agree. I’ve made that statement here before. In fact, I’ve advised that family should mostly be handled as one would handle any relationship. That’s right. No special dispensation for blood.
I mean, that’s not exactly true. I give a little more leeway to my family members than I might someone outside my DNA strands, but still, I adhere to the principle of the thing mostly.
In my case, I’m lucky. Very, very lucky. Although I can’t point to every single family member and say we are thick as thieves, I have a greater number of solid connections than many others I know, starting with my nuclear family and branching out from there.
I’m already mad at myself for the direction this piece is starting to go in. Truly. It sounds cold and detached and my intention was quite different.
Let me try again.
Family is everything to me. I am grateful that I can make this statement and there is a not a day that goes by that I don’t consider that point of gratitude. That is not to say that we haven’t driven each other batty over the years I’ve been alive, but at the core of it all is so much love that it’s almost hard to believe.
If you’ve been following along on my journey thus far, this shouldn’t come as a surprise to you. I write often about my various family members, particularly when it comes to my mother’s side of the family. That is no slight on my father’s side, it’s just that certain family members on mom’s side of the family have been a more stable and a bigger presence in my adult life.
With great particularity is the relationship I have with my mother’s sister, Ellen.
When I was a little girl and as I moved into my teenage years, I grew to know Ellen from two distinct but merged points of view. I was regaled with tales of Ellie as she was as a little girl and teenager and young woman and then, grown woman. And also, I knew my Aunt Ellie. I KNOW her. I know her laugh and her generosity and her brain. Her big and modestly hidden intellectual capacity. What I mean by that is that there has never been an arrogance or boastfulness about Aunt Ellie. She has, my whole life, shared little tidbits. Her views on the socio-political climate, the books she has read, the plays that made her think, and the operas that made her cry.
Also, abundance. She has always operated from a place of abundance. Wear the onesie pajamas because they are warm, don’t say no to sprinkles, eat the cookie, try that cooking utensil. Be brave in ways that aren’t obvious other than the spectacular way in which they enrich you as a human being. Involve yourself in all the experiences that grow you and shape you and keep you joyous, always. And yes, avoid sadness if you can, at all costs. Do not deny its existence but certainly do not focus on it.
Life is too sweet and too big and too vast and too exciting, so swim in it all. And wear a bathing suit with bows while you do it.
When I was a child, Aunt Ellen’s house was the one with sugary cereal and 20 tomatoes in the wire rack in the kitchen, and music playing, and all the hugs. As a teenager, I appreciated the stories of her teenage years, her need to be free and her ability to just let go, to be comfortable with her body and with her friends and with her choices. And I knew, even then, that this wasn’t a wholly accurate sentiment, as it negated the feelings that she had in the moment, but I also knew that her feelings would err on the side of a silver lining. Because, it is Aunt Ellie, after all.
In my twenties, when I really leaned into my terrible decisions when it came to men (and my thirties, if I’m being real), she was a safe space for me. A space without judgment and a willing and open ear. A place where I could vent my grief and self-rage and find solace and peace, if even for a moment. She urged me to find my self-worth and a partner who reflected back to me the good, rather than the settling. But also, she told me I am fine as I am. A whole being without someone to fill in the spaces I was told exist, by others.
As I worked my way through my thirties and into my forties, I have continued to seek her advice and comfort and also, search for the baby animal videos she has always sent me on social media.
I suppose, if I’m being honest, my Aunt Ellie, has become my friend. A real friend. Someone who I trust implicitly. Someone who has always and continues to celebrate my wins and mourns my losses and loves me in whatever version of me in showing up in that moment. I still want to steal every piece of jewelry off her body, but now I get to send her my favorite mascara in the mail, after arriving home from a visit with a bag filled with goodies (food and clothing and all the things).
She is a friend in all the ways that matters, and she means the world to me. And sometimes, I think it’s important to just put these words down on paper. I think sometimes we wait too long to just say how much people mean to us. We say ‘I love you’ but we don’t say all the other things. Like…
Thank you.
You’ve saved me.
I remember- all the things.
I will never forget.
You’ve changed my life.
I’m grateful for you.
And yeah, I love you.
Say it now. Not because of anything other than why the fuck not.
X
L.
thepathtoworthy.com 