In Memoriam

Shawn and I took Reilly to Flagler Beach, Florida this past weekend. There we met up with Shawn’s father’s side of the family: Grandpa, Grandma, Craig, Donna, Danny, Chris, Jimmy, Chuck, Jay, Sam, Savannah, Cindy and John. Flagler was chosen because it was close to the grandparent’s home in Palm Coast, and also to incorporate a vacation aspect to a trip that had a more serious purpose.

It was several months ago that Shawn’s aunt Christine died. She passed away from breast cancer that had metastasized to her liver. Christine fought it until the very end, but sometimes the fight is not fair, and is so one-sided that your opponent has an impossible advantage.

As if the cancer were not enough, during chemo she lost her home and her hospital in Hurricane Katrina, and was forced to drift, ill and homeless, from relative to relative. At one point, she came to the City to visit Sloan Kettering for a second opinion, diagnosis and treatment. When we visited her at the Miracle House she was tired, her skin a little golden, her hair growing back in grey. But she was sharp enough. Reilly got to meet her great aunt, we got to have a meal together, and to hug hello and goodbye.

Christine asked to be cremated, and for her ashes to be cast out into the ocean at dawn. Shawn tells me it was a beautiful ceremony, and that the only people on the beach were those in our group. She said that the sound of the waves was calming.

I didn’t go. The reason that I didn’t go was that Reilly was still sleeping. Shawn asked if I would stay with her, and I was happy to. I’ve never had a very good grasp on death. I’ve gone from being ambivalent to it to fearing it at every moment, perhaps even feeling what it is to die. I was glad to skip the ceremony.

I always liked Christine. She was a free spirit, a little weird from living alone for all her adult life in New Orleans, but then again, who in New Orleans is normal? When Shawn and I took our cross-country road trip in 2000, we stopped in New Orleans to visit Christine. I remember that she took us to a Creole restaurant and Christine and I ordered Bloody Mary’s. They were the hottest damn Bloody Mary’s of all time, but Christine was stubborn enough to insist (through watering eyes and a sweaty brow) that they weren’t too bad and to keep on smiling and sipping.

After Christine’s ceremony, the family gathered at the local chain diner to have breakfast. Cindy—Shawn’s aunt and Christine’s sister—brought out pictures of Christine from her last days. My eyes welled with tears to see her. It seemed as if the color was off in the developing—Christine was ashen and yellow from her liver failure—but true to form, was still smiling, holding up a Christmas stocking with her name on it.

The weekend was spent with family, so it contained the usual irritations of too many opinions and clashing personalities. But more so, the overarching feeling was of belonging. And it was a reminder to me that your family is really all you have; a person to change your diaper, to pick you up when you fall down, to cast your ashes into the ocean when you’re gone.