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Aunt Joanne
By Nancy Lindquist | July 6, 2007
This is a tough one for me. You see, my aunt and uncle divorced after their kids were grown. My mother was not surprised. I don’t think anyone was. Me? I was shocked, surprised and devastated. Sid and Joanne were the first people in my life whose marriage did not make it. I had friends with divorced parents, most famously my mother had a lovely friend who left her husband for another woman, but that was some sort of anomaly in my, “perfect world” universe.
“Can I still see her?”
I got an odd look and a softly spoken comment that we would talk about it later, but never did. Divorce in Grand Haven, MI was not spoken of, not talked about and not looked at too closely, lest that dark cloud pass over you and yours.
I didn’t know what to do or say. I did know that a judge and a piece of paper could not un-make her my aunt. I stubbornly called her Aunt Joanne forever. My uncle remarried. Rita is a fun woman and the way she danced at her wedding brought joy to everyone. She was, and is, a hoot. Someone you can slap your knee with, cause you’re too busy laughing to breath, or talk. She’s a wonderful addition to the family. My mother’s older brother, Sid, seems deeply happy with Rita and that’s a precious and rare thing.
Still, part of me missed Joanne. She had a grace of spirit that I liked. Her home was lovely, but more than that, she took immense pride in everything she did. I clearly remember a wonderful phase she went through. She decorated eggs. Not like Easter Eggs, she carefully cut them open, placing dioramas inside. All sorts of eggs. Quail, chicken and ostrich. Each one was like a precious work of art and they fascinated me. I think I was thirteen at the time and those eggs just made me want to create something that was beautiful. I don’t have one, but I always wished I did.
She flitted around my life, for a while. She’d show up at the weddings of her children, or we’d see her in a store and say hello, but there was not the comfortable hope that family are more than people who share a gene pool, or in my case, the love of someone, because I’m adopted. Still, Joanne never said an off word about anyone in my family. Grandma Jesse could be a stubborn old broad and Joanne was always kind and courteous about her. Not even the rest of the family were always that generous with Grandma. The woman drank boilermakers and bitched about everything. I miss Grandma too.
So, the years passed. Whenever I saw one of my cousins, I would ask them about their mother. I always got a polite response that never told me enough. Never brought me back into the world of the creative and gracious woman I remember her to be and I was sad about that. Not actively thinking about it all the time, but would look back on my life and miss her. Miss her voice, which I still clearly remember. Miss her smile and her eyes. She had lovely eyes. The Ammon’s have distinctive eyes. They crinkle up when they smile in a way that’s just warm and welcoming. They get passed down to the kids and in Joanne and Sid’s case that happened to. Aunt Joanne’s eyes didn’t get handed down. I wish there were still eyes like her’s in the world. Not that the Ammon eyes are not fun, beautiful and a joy to look at, but something about her eyes spoke volumes about her heart.
I miss Aunt Joanne. I miss the promise that we would get together one day and talk about life. I miss her for the sake of her grandchildren, who are all either grown adults, or older teens. I miss her for the sake of her children, Jeff and Chris, my cousin’s. I miss her for my Uncle Sid. He’s moved on, but to know someone you once deeply loved is dead, is still painful. I miss her for the connection she had to my mom.
Joanne is the first one in that generation to pass, besides mom and she was in an accident. It’s not the same. The others will too. My uncles, my aunts, my father. Probably in the next fifteen years that generation will be gone. Then it will be my generation that are the older ones. We will take their place and be the venerable ones.
Do not rest Aunt Joanne. Wherever you go, they will need the touch of beauty you brought to my world. Have a safe journey and hug my mom for me.
July 6th, 2007 at 7:16 am
What a touching post… I offer you my sincerest condolences.
July 10th, 2007 at 12:36 pm
It’s obvious that she meant a lot to you, Nancy. What a beautiful way to remember her and honor her life.