015. Another Train


Aunt Bobbie passed away in her sleep, either this morning or last night. She’d be 48 come May, the same day as my mom. The story my mom always told me was that, on her 5th birthday, she asked for a bike. She got a sister instead. She still wanted a bike, darnit!

Aunt Bobbie had Marfan’s syndrom, and her heart has always been weak. Maybe this wasn’t so unexpected. But damnit, it came like a bolt from the blue. I wake up to the sound of someone on the phone, voices raised in that manner where “we’re trying not to let anyone know something is wrong”. G’job, really. Didn’t figure out a thing.

We’re not telling Mia yet. She has exams. And she doesn’t know about this blog, else I wouldn’t type it here. Last time a family member died she was home alone. I was at Buck’s Rock. Mom/Dad were somewhere out of cell reach . She called me and said my name, in that vulnerable little voice that tells me “shitfuck. Something bad’s happened”. I comforted her until she was less hysteric, then collapsed into the arms of my roommate.

She was turning 48. She outlived her biological mother by 11 years. And I’m going to go back to my Christian roots and say she’s with her mom, and Elka, and that Elka just said “Welcome home, baby” like she always does.

I hope my mom drove safely. Theres a storm, and she’s upset, and I haven’t heard from her since this morning. I’ve been goofing off and not crying and trying to ignore it all and I don’t want to wake everyone up. They’re all around me, too- two of my cousins dozing next to me, two on the bed, all gone out like lights.

What about her kids? Uncle David? I haven’t heard anything. We’re picking up my cousin, her got stranded in DC by plane, he’s getting to Delaware by train.

The memories are on replay. Mom sending her a box filled entirely with sparky confetti, that never came out of the rug. Mom always walking into the room, and going, in this high pitched voice, “Oooh, BOBBIE!” Answering the phone “What. Do. You. WANT?” Her and mom, putting on these rednkulous fake accents and jutting their chins out in a way they though was British, their faces mirroring each other.

I’ve had a great day. I’ve chilled with the O’Leary family, rediscovered cousins, and had a wonderful time (finally found the gay guy in my dad’s family. KNEW there had to be one on each side. they even look alike) Happy happy youtube snappy. Ventriloquists and jokes.

She was forty-seven. WHAT THE HELL. She was FINE. She was out dancing the night before. Why? Damnit what happened? Does it even matter? Probably not to Sean and Erin. Not at all. Or maybe it matters so much they can’t stand it. I don’t know. I’m just a niece. She and my mom were best friends. Oh god I want my mommy. Why isn’t she alive?

It’s almost four o’clock. I’ve been up a while. My head is everywhere, happy sad.

REAL helpful, playlist. “Send Me On My Way”, Rusted Root? Ouch. I’m trying not to wake anyone up, damnit.

She died in her sleep. She wasn’t hurt.

Only the people left behind are.


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