The Letter

She’s the last sentient, salient speaker of my parent’s generation left in my circle of kin. She’s 87 and dying of liver cancer ~ as her husband, my Uncle Bob, died 30 years ago. What do I want to know before she goes? What stories can possibly soothe my incessant enquirer? What keys do I think she has to understanding my father and mother and brother before I was born?

What I really want to say is: 

Dear Auntie Nora, 

Stick around and tell me all I want to know!! They’re all gone but you. Mom’s still alive but cannot speak, damn the stroke eight years ago!

Dad’s gone since 1965, Bob since 1978. Poor Brother Mel has been inebriated or otherwise absent since he was ten in 1952.

Everything is in divine right order for Uncle Larry, mom’s brother and he would never dare to rumple the surface of his Lake Placid of emotions. His wife, my aunt Mickey, lost her mind over the decades, little bit by little bit. As her teeth dropped out one by one, so did her ability to think, remember or make any sense.

So, how’re we going to sneak in some conversations here, dear, while you still move teacup from saucer to lips; while you still rub your forefinger absentmindedly against your thumb as you think and remember? Your mind is so sharp.

Could my insatiable curiosity be quelled by one of your recollections without taxing you too much? Do I really WANT to know all that happened between Bobby and Howard?

All I know is I want to give it a go, while there’s still life in me and in you, dear Auntie. 

See you Sunday.

Love,

Melinda