November 25, 1999
Thanksgiving
My mother called me at 8:20 this morning to let me know that dinner was going to be delayed today. She said that she'd gotten a phone call and that my aunt Eula was going to have to go to the hospital, that they'd called EMS for her.
My stepfather called me about twenty minutes ago. "She didn't make it," he said. It took me a couple minutes to process that. I kept wanting to say, "You mean she died." Almost as a confirmation. I didn't want him to be so vague with me. He said that my mom and my aunt Vera were going over to my grandma's house to tell her, and that my stepfather was meeting them there. I'm wondering now if I should have offered to go too.
I'm very afraid for my grandmother. She's ninety-one, and she gets so unbelievably overwrought with grief. When my uncle Eddie died in January, she passed out at the funeral several times, and just looked stunned. I was terrified then that we would lose her. I'm worried about it now, too.
Other than that, I don't know how I feel. I'm numb. Eula was always one of my favorite aunts when I was growing up. Although she'd been married at one point before I was born, she was the epitome of a maiden aunt. I can remember looking forward to the weekends she would come out to my grandma's house, because she always would give me some sort of gift, always something little, always something a little odd, but as a kid I loved it.
She was the one who told me that Santa had a tiny little elf who went through keyholes for houses that didn't have fireplaces or chimneys. I think she even named him, but I can't remember what. I can remember being maybe four or five, and she came to stay with us. I ended up sleeping on the sofabed in the living room with her, and I was afraid of the some tree-shadows on the wall. The empty branches waving in the wind scared me. She told me the trees were putting on a puppet show for me. It worked, and she loved to tell that story later. Almost every time I saw her as an adult, she'd say, "Do you remember about the puppet show?"
She was a very gentle, very quiet woman, oddly child-like in some ways. She was one of those people who always meant well, even if they didn't always manage to do just the right thing.
I'm sitting here feeling angry at myself now. I was so looking forward to having a nice, relaxed Thanksgiving with my close family -- my mom and stepdad, my grandma, one aunt, one uncle and one cousin -- and I'm feeling upset now because that won't happen. That makes me feel very very petty. I feel pouty because I'm not going to get what I want.
I don't know what to feel thankful for.
Posted by Lisa at November 25, 1999 10:32 AM
