Time takes it toll.
Large families eventually downsize and not because they intend to.
Life takes its toll.
This is an old photo of my daddy’s oldest brother Willie Edward. My grandparents, Oscar and Effie, had seven sons and three daughters who had equally large families. I remember Sunday afternoons in Georgia with all my cousins. We ran down the red clay road and skipped across the railroad track in front of my parent’s small white clapboard house. Deep blue hydrangeas perfumed the sweltering Southern air. An ancient cedar of Lebanon stood sentinel at the edge of our yard. Fried chicken wafted through the open kitchen window. Voices of my favorite aunts, Myrtle and Elytrum, held a higher pitch than any of the others. My uncles gathered on the front porch and recalled the days of their youth. I would sit down on the bottom step and soak in the details of their lives. Uncle Carlton had served in the U.S. Navy in World War II and I believe the phrase “cuss like a sailor” may have been created just because of him. I loved him dearly. He passed away at the age of forty-four from a heart condition. My heart still breaks when I recall him coming in the house on Christmas mornings so long ago with a toy bubble gum machine for me. Each year it was a toy bubble game machine that was actually a piggy bank in disguise. Maybe he was trying to hint to me to save money.
Time takes it toll.
All my uncles and aunts have passed into the arms of Jesus. Their days of laughter and all their days of struggle have long since left this earthly realm.
It is often said that we live on in memory.
Yeah. My memories make me laugh, then make me cry. My heart aches to just hear Aunt Elytrum and Aunt Myrtle’s voices through the kitchen window as they drown out the voices of my other aunts. My aunt Mary lingers in my memory with her sweet raisin and cinnamon cookies.
Daddy wearing his brown fedora with the little purple feather in the hatband is a bittersweet memory. As you can see, Uncle Willie Edward is wearing a fedora. None of my uncles would have been seen without a fedora. Equally, my aunts would never have been seen without heels, gloves, and a matching handbag paired with a beautiful dress. I guess that’s where I got my fashion sense.
Oh, those delicate, precious memories they left me with.
Aunt Elytrum preaching about Jesus and his enduring love.
Daddy and Mama with their silences, their grievances, their losses, and their small victories.
Time swept them away from me with its cruel hand.
Now, I need all of them: my uncles, my aunts, my cousins, my mama and my daddy.
My sister Sara Jo died of cancer at only 49 years old. Her with those impossibly beautiful dark eyes that were as close to ebony as any shade could get. Her rich dark hair that cascaded down her shoulders and curled just a little around her high cheekbones. Painful to remember her. Oh, what I would give to just hug her again. She always smelled of warm coffee and Chanel number 5. The loss of her is unbearable, even thirty-three years later.
Time.
I need my big sister Sara Jo to go shopping with me. I need a hug from my big sister.
But, she is in the arms of Jesus now.
And I am here in this world at nearly sixty-three years old tallying up my losses.
My brother George drowned at fifteen years old the summer before I was born. I have a photo of him: a tall young man with thick curly dark hair and a hauntingly sad glimmer in his large dark eyes. Perhaps his soul knew he would not be long on this earth.
His spirit left this earth and went home to Jesus before Mama and Daddy were ready to let him go. Perhaps that explained the sadness that lingered in their eyes.
Time marches on.
Now, my husband of twenty-seven years is dying of cancer.
And, I don’t know what to do with this fact.
I comfort myself, though, by looking at family photos of the uncles and aunts whom I loved. I comfort myself by remembering Mama and Daddy. I comfort myself by remembering that Jesus stands at the end of all this with his arms wide open to receive me and to wipe away all my tears.
Once upon a time, I was a little girl with several uncles who loved me dearly and several aunts who loved me, too. I never forget that love they gave. They called me Mockingbird because I was always speaking.
I draw my strength and my faith from them.
They taught me to be strong and to be relentless in pursuit of the right things: love, honor, and faith.
Love, honor, and faith are enduring qualities that even time can never erase.
When I say “uncle,” I remember love, laughter, and joy.
When I say “aunt,” I remember happiness, fried chicken and oatmeal raisin cookies.
Funny how memories are.
We live on in memories.
I know that one day when my struggles on this earth are finished I will see them all once again.
I will have joy for all eternity.
Because Jesus is on the other side of all of this.
Jenny W. Andrews copyright 2024
Family photo is property of Jenny W. Andrews
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