My handsome, charismatic, absent, biological dad died two days ago. On December 20, 2024, a lifetime of loss and longing came to its definitive end.
On that same day, my beloved Aunt Sally began having grand mal seizures and did not stop until she was sedated and intubated in critical care. The seizures might have been the result of an airbag deployment from a fender bender the night before. She had walked away, along with her husband, Jim. But the next day, she was not okay. No longer okay. Maybe a traumatic brain injury? It doesn’t really matter. Not when our vibrant, Giving Tree of an aunt was silent and still in an Indianapolis ICU.
Sally is the second oldest girl of the eight Anderson siblings: Jimmy, Sissy, Sally, Chuck, Mimi, Ketty, Brent, and Kurt. My mom was the oldest. Only five remain. We’ve already said goodbye to Jimmy, Brent, and Mom. Mom and Sally were best friends growing up, growing older. Sally has let her hair go white, and she looks so much like my mom now that it takes my breath away. The possibility of losing her, of bringing the living sibling total to four, is too much to bear.
Sally worked at Delta Airlines for multiple decades, helping frazzled passengers reunite with lost luggage. When their missing bags wouldn’t arrive for another day or two, Sally was known to bring strangers to her home for the night, to offer them food and shelter and companionship in their time of stress and need. We had big, boisterous family reunions when the eight siblings were younger. Often, Sally would bring a handful of strangers who became friends, some who became family. Sally never knew a stranger for long.
Sherri, Sally’s oldest daughter, is the cousin closest to my age. Four months my senior, Sherri has always been worldly, loud, exuberant, and wicked smart. When I’d stay the night with Sherri, we’d sneak out her window into the darkness, much to my timid dismay. I was a rule follower, always afraid of getting caught. Sherri was a rule breaker, always ready for the next adventure. She scared me a little because she was fearless, but she pushed my boundaries and opened my mind.
I needed her more than I realized I did back then.
Although we only lived 35 miles apart as kids, Sherri and I were pen pals. Her letters introduced me to things that were far hipper than I was, especially music. Sherri gave me a Top Five song list in every letter. I wouldn’t have known about The Talking Heads or The Cure or the Violent Femmes without Sherri. I wouldn’t know all the lyrics to “Tainted Love” or “99 Luftbaloons” (the English version, of course) without Sherri’s letters. She was always at least ten times cooler than I was.
She still is.
Sherri is now a wildlife photographer, writer, and professor who is dedicated to “eco storytelling.” She takes her students to Australia and Africa and introduces them to life outside of San Jose, California, to people and projects and interests bigger than themselves. She has always been a teacher, and I was one of her original students.
When I talked to Sherri about her mom yesterday, she was—as always—pragmatic and luminous, equally comfortable talking about end-of-life realities and familial love. Her heart and mind have always been able to hold so many thing simultaneously. I am so grateful she is my cousin and my friend.
This family of mine never fails to teach me, to humble me, to bring me to my knees in both positive and painful ways.
The beauty and bane, I guess, of having a huge, loving family bursting with moms and dads and sisters and brothers and nieces and nephews and aunts and uncles and cousins is that eventually, they all have to leave this earthly place.
When there are so many to love, there are just as many to lose. But I will take the love in spite of the loss every time. Every single, heartbreaking time.
Feeling into the depths of ALL the love. ❤️ Loving and heartfelt care to Aunt Sally, and to each of you. 🪶
So wonderful to have a family you love so much. I hope that Aunt Sally gets well soon. Soon. Love to you, Katrina Anne. xo