Dear Lyla,
Yesterday I learned that my Aunt Neda, Bumpa’s sister, went to Heaven. Although you two never met, she has already been an influential part of your upbringing. I adored my Aunt Neda when I was younger; I always got excited when she and her family were expected to visit us at the lake. We rarely got to visit with them since they lived in Grand Rapids, MI and the drive was a long one. When I was twelve Bumpa and Grandma Jo had planned a trip for just the two of them and Patti and I got to choose who we would spend some time with over the holidays; I chose to go stay with Aunt Neda, Uncle Gary and the boys in Michigan. I could barely contain my excitement, I was going to spend a whole week with one of my favorite people on the planet. That trip contained a lot of firsts; my first time flying alone and getting stuck in a snowstorm, my first time skiing (that is a story for a different letter) and the first time I ever really contemplated my own character. Meeting Neda and Gary at the airport is a memory that has not faded with time; Gary with his quiet smile reaching for my luggage and Neda’s strong, steady voice that carried with it an edge that assured you she said what she meant and meant what she said, “I see you survived the plane ride kiddo.” Her way of acknowledging the fear I must have felt while at the same time not allowing me to fall victim to it. I spent a lot of time alone with my aunt during that trip; she asked a lot of questions about my happiness. I thought it odd that she would ask such things but, in retrospect, I think she was just worried about how hard we worked on the resort and wanted to make sure I still was enjoying my youth. Neda is a lot like Bumpa, although the two of them would be the least likely to admit it aloud. I imagine them as children constantly butting heads; convinced that each of them were in the right. Their similarity is what in all likelihood drew me to covet my aunt’s attention; she was a straight shooter, like Bumpa, but she did it while hugging and with a great sense of humor. Little one you remind me of her a bit in your manner of approaching life’s stark realities. Upon hearing the news yesterday I was incredibly sad and you asked why, when informed you simply said “That’s ok Mommy, she’s in heaven; you will see her some day. I can meet her there too, we all die and then we go to heaven, so you see, it’s ok.” How your Great Aunt Neda would have appreciated that response. In my mind’s eye I can see her eyebrows raise, hear a “hmmm” from her lips and finally a “That’s about right kid” as a confirmation of the statement’s accuracy. You are more wise at five than I was at twelve, for on that trip to Michigan I did not yet grasp the concept that I could not control what life brings our way; but Neda tried to teach me that we can certainly control how we react to it. One morning I was very sullen, upset with how my hair looked; I had been given a perm against my will, I have curly hair, it was a disaster and on that day I could do nothing with it (quite tragic for an adolescent teen girl). Neda asked me what was wrong and I replied “nothing, nobody cares anyway.” Instead of cajoling and sweet talking me she simply called out “Pity party; table for one!” I was taken aback, she was not about to let me wallow in self pity and I didn’t quite know how to handle it, so I just stared at her. I was informed that if I wasn’t willing to do something about it she wasn’t about to listen to me whine; so I asked her to take me to a beauty shop, which she did. To this day I use that phrase, with my students, with my close friends and with you; Neda was right, it is a pretty effective rhetorical tool. What a lifelong gift to receive, the ability for self reflection; to appreciate what you have rather than to commiserate about what you don’t. Your Great Aunt Neda was headstrong, loving, generous, faith filled, and wise. Although we have only exchanged cards at Christmas and the occasional letter over the last few years, I am saddened by the thought that she has only ever been a phone call away should I need her sage advice. So little one, just for today, to grieve for my Aunt Neda and conversations that are never to be, I am going to throw myself a little pity party; table for one.
Letters To Lyla 