A wonderful, messy, scattered, loving life

I’m lucky.  I always look forward to spending time with my family.  

Not everyone is as privileged, and I recognize that, so I try and consciously appreciate it.  This past weekend I got to see a lot of family. My Aunt Suzan had flown in from Idaho to visit my parents in Alabama.  Dean and I made plans to drive down for the weekend as well (with Jake, of course). My sister and her family came by for dinner on Saturday.  We got to use the dining room, it was almost like Thanksgiving!

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become more conscious of these times we get to spend with each other.  It’s not that I didn’t appreciate them before, it’s just changed. I don’t want to say that it’s only due to losing people, because I’ve always been aware that people can go.  I don’t want to imply that I’ve had tragic experiences with death either. (Although, every death is tragic in a way.)

A picture I took on my walk with my Aunt Suzan.

But I remember when my grandpa died even though I was four.  I also knew that I wasn’t quite getting it. He died around this time of year.  I know because I asked my mom if we could put up the Halloween decorations and she said no.  I asked why and she tried to explain to me that grandpa had just died and so daddy would be very upset if he came home and there was a cat, a witch and a skeleton on the door.  My four-year-old brain envisioned my father coming home enraged at the decorations, screaming passionately that it was their fault that his father had died. Even at four, I knew this wasn’t right.  I also knew that I wasn’t quite getting it. And I left it alone. But I never forgot it.

I remember when my granny died when I was ten.  I remember when Willie, a large, tall, black teenager who used to high five-me in the halls and make me feel cool for a hot second (I was not cool), drowned accidentally when I was a sophomore.  I remember not being able to stop crying in homeroom and being asked if I should be sent to the principal's office for counseling and saying no, I didn’t know him that well. I didn’t think I deserved it because we weren’t close friends.

I remember when my friend Sarah’s mom died when we were seniors.  I still have both images of the two times I saw Sarah’s mom burned into my brain.  I remember sobbing at the funeral and seeing Sarah sit calmly, sadly on her boyfriend’s lap, accepting hugs.  I remember my friend Tara’s face in the car on the way home. Tara never showed emotion, but I remember her face, illuminated by passing streetlights, with one tear tracking down her cheek.  I remember learning that Sarah had had to do CPR on her mom.

Me and Erin. I had a bad cold and just opened a show that she had come to see and the staff tried to keep her out of our cast party, to which she was invited. We got through it and managed to enjoy each other’s company.

I remember when Erin died.  I won’t go into that. It’s still fresh.  If you think I write well, you should read Erin’s blog.  But be prepared, it’s not easy.  It’s honest and real. Just like she was.

I could go on.  Dean’s Aunt Cathy.  My grandma. Then I could go on about the people who could have died and they DIDN’T!  Including me a couple of times. My Aunt Suzan herself. My parents very recently.

This is not a post about death.  It’s a post about love.

I have always felt fairly aware of how fragile life is.  I think about it every day when I bike. Literally. A truck comes up behind me blaring it’s horn (regardless of whether or not I’m in the bike lane, I think some of them are letting me know that they’re there, but it’s terrifying) and sometimes I wonder if it will hit me and sometimes I think, “no, this isn’t how I go.”  And I’ll spend a moment considering who I would leave behind, and then I bike on.

I don’t get to see my Aunt Suzan very often.  The last time I saw her was the last time I saw Grandma.  The last time Dean saw her was before we were even engaged, when my cousin Kristin got married.  I think that was 2013. Aunt Suzan got to go to a museum with my sister on Friday and on Sunday morning, we went on a walk together for over an hour.  I watched interesting dynamics between her and my mom that I don’t even think the two of them are aware of. Family is amazing.

On Saturday night, my sister came over with her husband Sam and their three kids.  We don’t get to see them too often because they’re busy with the kids and their farm, so we always look forward to it. My nephew put a mardi gras bead around my neck and made me promise not to take it off (I did not) and just before they left for the evening, Dean got to show all three kids Untitled Goose Game.  You play as a goose and basically mess up everyone else’s day by putting their rakes into lakes and stealing their sandwiches, etc. The kids were enthralled, amused and wanted to know when he could show them more.  

It’s so surreal to see those kids and think that Aunt Suzan saw me that way once.  And I try and remember the times I saw her when I was younger. I remember we stayed at her house once and she had white bread.  My mom had only ever given us wheat bread. I think I must have had half a loaf of her white bread. It was so delicious I just kept asking for more.  She had a dog named Casey then, a golden retriever, and Casey had grabbed an uncooked noodle off the floor and Aunt Suzan tried to take it from her. Casey made it into a game.  It was hilarious. It was obvious Casey wasn’t going to eat the noodle, she kept it hanging just a little out of her mouth, walking back and forth between us as we sat on the kitchen floor and Aunt Suzan pretended to try and grab it from her.  If you look up the word ‘mischievous’ in the dictionary, that dog’s face right then is the entire description. We thought it was so funny. I wonder what my nieces and nephews will remember about me.

I once had a commercial shoot in Bloomington and Dean’s family came up from Peoria just to have dinner with me before I got on the train back to Chicago.

Part of the reason for the move to Nashville was to have more of these times.  I was tired of the once or twice a year visits and Chicago and I weren’t in love anymore anyway. The endless winters were just too much.  My parents are getting older, I’m getting older and I want us all to be able to enjoy each other as much as we can.  

It was wonderful to be able to drive down and time our visit with Aunt Suzan’s.  My parents are planning on driving up for my first half marathon post injury next month.  Dean is driving to see his family for Halloween. Then we’ll both be in Peoria for Thanksgiving.  It’s Alabama for Christmas this year. I’ve always loved the holidays. I feel doubly lucky that I love Dean’s family and he loves mine.  The holidays are a big stressful, wonderful mess of Lyons and Beevers, oh my!

I was talking to my mom on the phone yesterday about an article that I had sent her.  It was on aging and it was very well written and I had wanted to know what she thought.  She really liked it and we talked about it for quite a while. (Check it out here if you’re interested.)  One of the things that struck me in the article, and still sticks with me, is that the answer to one of the writer’s questions.  She asked a man if he wished he had accomplished more. He said, “No, I wish I had loved more.”

It’s what I am trying to do.