An open letter to my cousins, upon discovery of my aunt's death ...

Note: Death is a part of life. I know that.
But, it can still surprise you.
Especially when you're not expecting it. 

If there hadn't been an earthquake along the eastern seaboard earlier this week, I might still be in the dark.  Here's how I'm handling this ... 

for now.

Dear Carolyn & John,

Wednesday morning I placed a phone call to Evelyn’s cell phone. I thought I’d check in on her following the earthquake on Tuesday. I hadn’t spoken to her since February, so it seemed like a good excuse to call. We spoke a few times a year and the last time I saw her was in 2009.  

Aunt Evelyn and my darling husband, after having
dinner together in June 2009

Well, the message on her phone said it was no longer in service, which I thought was kind of odd. Then, I used Google to look her up, thinking I’d call her home phone.  Google’s search delivered her obituary.

I didn’t think I could be shocked by anything anymore. After all, I’m 60 years old now. I’ve seen it all, right? But, THIS shocked me. In a way I wasn’t expecting.

I don’t expect that anyone would think about letting me know if she was sick. It’s not like I was a big part of her life. However, she WAS a big part of mine. I wrote about our last visit on my blog and will include it with this letter for you to read. And, comment on, if you choose.

I had to go to the internet to find your mailing addresses. My husband, Manfred, found a phone number for Carolyn and I called Wednesday night and left a message, but have yet to hear anything back, so I’m writing.  Of course I’m hoping she’ll call on the weekend, so if you get this letter and you did call … I’ll be glad to hear from you.

I’d like to know what happened to Evelyn. I haven’t been able to think about anything else since making this discovery and I find these feelings to be very unsettling.  I cannot know how you must be feeling with this loss. She was a wonderful spirit and I feel lucky to have had her for my aunt. I imagine she was a dynamite mother and grandmother and I am truly sorry for your losses. I think you must miss her a lot.

I know I’m not the best in the world at writing letters. Before the internet, I was a decent letter writer and actually have kept all the letters that were sent to me. But, like so many people, I have come to use e-mail and Facebook to keep in touch with people. I’ve looked for relatives on Facebook where I know their last names, (including you guys) but not everyone is Facebook friendly, and I understand that. But, I’m here, now, writing … asking … what happened to my Aunt Evelyn?

When I told my darling husband, he was shocked. And, surprised. Being from Germany, his perception of family is very different from the reality of my family. He doesn’t understand how a big family like ours is not more in touch with each other. I’ve never been able to answer that question for him, because I really don’t know the answer. Or, maybe I do know the answer, but have to look for it in my own history. After all, I was the one who left Virginia and came to Florida, right? Had I stayed there, odds are good I would’ve seen family members more often. Or would I? See what I mean? It’s hard to pinpoint where things fell apart. I’m sure it’s mostly my responsibility, though. It always is …

Aunt Christine & Aunt Evelyn

My darling husband gave me one of those digital picture frames for Christmas a couple of years ago; you know, the kind where you can load your photos and it rotates the photos in the frame? It sits on my desk at work and among those rotating photos are a couple from the Pork, Peanut & Pine Festival that Samantha and I drove up for when she was 10-years-old. (She’s 24 now!) I had scanned these photos so I could use them in my digital frame. I like seeing pictures of “My Family.”

From left: Cousins Sharon, Carolyn & Constance
(our mothers are sisters) with Aunt Evelyn, right,
and Carolyn's daughter, Ashley, behind.

As I age, I’m finding that my family is more important than ever. After Evelyn’s revelation to me the last time I saw her (see my blog entry), it changed the way I thought about Mama. A lot.

She also gave me copies of photos of family members from a couple of generations back. I tried to express to her how much they mean to me. It seems like it took such a long time to realize who I really am … who I was all along … because of where I come from and who I come from. I don’t know if this is a normal transition from middle age to the “final act” of life, but it’s what’s been going on with me.  There are so many things I don’t know still, but I’m open to hearing stories and sharing memories, so, if this is something you feel like doing, you can be sure it would be appreciated by me. And, cherished.

I hope you’ll give all this some thought. And, I hope you’ll feel like writing or calling. I would welcome any opportunity to catch up with both of you, your families and your lives.  Thanks for taking time to read. I’m sorry I wasn’t around for Evelyn at the end of her life. I would like to have talked to her one more time.

Mothers and Daughters

My oldest daughter is 40 years old, but I didn't get to share in the celebration of her birthday in October. She won't let me share anything about her life and I'm really confused about why she's shutting me out.

I remember staying out of touch with my own mother when I was younger. But, it was never for more than a a few weeks at a time. Back then, there was no internet and long-distance phone calls cost 10 cents a minute. For that reason, we wrote letters quite a bit.

I've sent my daughter e-mails that usually go unanswered. I don't have her phone number anymore. I'm not even sure she still lives at the same address. I sent a birthday gift to my 6-year-old granddaughter in August, and my daughter responded by e-mail that "it was perfect" and "you didn't have to." But, what does that mean? Exactly?

My daughter's oldest daughter, now 18, has been a part of my life for the better part of the past two years because my daughter's second husband was charged with a "lewd and lascivious act against a minor," (my granddaughter).  She lived with her father for a brief period following this event, but he had a tough time dealing with her.  So, she came to stay with me.

The legal case was resolved a long time ago. I thought, "Just let some time go by and we can find our way back to each other." But, that hasn't happened.

My daughter has two other children besides my 18-year-old granddaughter. The 6-year-old granddaughter I mentioned earlier, and my only grandson who is 8-years old. The photo, above, I lifted off of my daughter's facebook page (and we're NOT "friends"). The two children are visiting with their other grandmother in Nicaragua last July.  I look at it often and yearn to hug them and find out what kind of wonderful people they are growing into. I know I'm missing a lot because I'm not a part of their lives. But, what can I do? Should I just show up at her house where she used to live hoping she still lives there? Or, should I  mind my own business and be patient and wait for her to let me back into her life and the lives of her children?

I honestly don't know ...

Langley Family Reunion Photos

I made this back during the summer, then promptly forgot about it. I've been cleaning out my mailbox and stumbled on it again ... So, I'm posting it here so it won't be lost again!

Langley Family Reunion Photos

View more presentations from Constance Ruppender.

Creativity Run Amok, Part 3: Valentines

I occasionally open the HP News & Notes email message I receive along with the numerous other artsy messages of interest that arrive in my mailbox every day. The words, "Make Your Own Valentine" in the subject line last week inspired me to read on.  After scouring through the do-it-yourself cards, I found a border I could use that allowed me to import my own photos and choose the color I liked, so ... I created a photo collage of my darling husband. This lovely man endures my constant picture taking of everything from the food we eat to the neighbor's dogs, with fashion doll shoots and nature adventures in-between, so I thought it apropo to share all the wonderful shots I've captured of him over the past few years. 

After printing it out, I typed tags and messages and printed them on vellum bristol, cut them out and glued them here and there. Liking what I'd done (and, I am very hard to please!), I headed to Target to find a suitable frame and some Valentine paper in which to wrap it.

I'm sort of impressed with myself. Now I wonder if dh will be impressed with his Valentine gift.  Do you think he'll see how loved he is? He surely is!

I'm out of time today, so I'll wrap it up tomorrow in this heart-felt tissue and make a Valentine card! What fun!!!

Stay tuned!

True Confessions

June 26, 2009 – Michael Jackson died yesterday. Samantha called as we were driving southbound on I-95 through South Carolina to tell us. We’re on our way home from a week-long vacation in Virginia (for a family reunion) and the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

When we checked into a Motel 6 last night and turned on the TV, sure enough, it was everywhere. CNN, BBC, ABC, NBC, CBS, FOX. It reminded me of the death of Princess Diana so long ago … what a memorable ending to our summer vacation …

~ o ~

Visiting with Aunt Evelyn in Virginia,
on Sunday, June 21st, she told this story ...

Blanche was the fifth of eight girls and she was always Daddy’s favorite. We all knew she was Daddy’s favorite, too. She was tallest at five feet ten inches. She was prettiest with auburn hair and hazel eyes while the rest of us had plain brown hair and eyes. And, she was always the smartest. You could tell after just a few minutes of conversation with her how intelligent she was. She knew things no one else seemed to know even though she’d never been to college. Although I don’t remember her as a book worm, I remember she loved to read. She read magazines and newspapers and trashy novels (when Mama wasn’t looking) as well as classics like “Jane Eyre.” And, she loved “Gone With The Wind.”

She had great style. It never mattered what she wore, from slacks and flats to a dress and heels; she knew how to accessorize and she did it splendidly and on a very small budget. I remember one time she came to my apartment when I first married and, as we talked, she moved a lamp from one table to another and a pillow from the sofa to a chair and the place looked better somehow. That’s what I mean about her having style. Every place she ever lived was nice, even if it was just an efficiency apartment. And, every outfit she ever wore was well put together, like in a fashion magazine.

I was the number six sister and Blanche was my best friend as well as my favorite sister. She taught me how to dance when I was eleven years old … the waltz, the fox trot and the jitterbug … and even though she was tall, she was the most graceful woman I ever knew.

Our father was a lot older than he let on. Mama was his fifth wife and it wasn’t until his final days that we learned how old he really was. You see, they didn’t keep track of birth dates then as they do now, so he was able to get away with lying about his age. He came from Naples, Italy around 1905-1906 as a young man and we think that was when he changed his age. When he died in 1957, the doctor said he was at least a hundred years old. I traced our family tree in the 1970s and learned that he was really closer to 110. He was about forty years older than Mama.

You might ask how I know Blanche was Daddy’s favorite child. Well, it had to do with his car. When I was 12 and Blanche was 15, Daddy let her drive his car. I remember, because I got to ride in the back seat. He never, ever let anyone else drive his car. Our older sisters still living at home at the time, Marguerite, Lillian and Doris, were never permitted to drive Daddy’s car. But, Blanche was allowed. She was allowed to do a lot of things that the rest of us never were. Which leads me to tell you this …

When Blanche was 16-years-old, Mama sent her away to a catholic convent somewhere in North or South Carolina. She sent her away because Blanche was pregnant. She gave birth to a boy and I never knew what happened to him.

I was almost 13 at the time this was happening and I didn’t really understand what was going on. But, I knew that Mama was making a mistake sending Blanche away. And, for the first time in my life I talked back to my mother and told her what she was doing was wrong. I got my face slapped more than once for “talking back.” Of course, she didn’t listen to me. I was young and naïve and I adored by older sister. Yet, I knew what Mama was doing was wrong, wrong, wrong! And, I knew it would change my sister forever. And, it did.

When Blanche came back, she was almost eighteen and she was changed. She wasn’t the free spirited sister who taught me how to jitterbug. She was quieter and seemed more serious about everything. We remained close throughout her life, but she was never the same. And, neither she nor Mama ever spoke about it again.

Mama, on their wedding day, 1949

Blanche met George when he was stationed at Fort Lee. He was a real handsome guy in his thirties and all of us girls had a crush on him. He was quiet and I guess some would say he was introverted. He was very intelligent … even smarter than Blanche. He was the cousin of another handsome soldier that we had known for a while from dancing at the local USO hall, JT. George took a real shine to Blanche. I don’t know if she ever told him about the baby. Like I said; she never spoke of it again, not to me and not to any of my other sisters or Mama.

Daddy, on their wedding day, 1949

After they married, Blanche was eager to start a family. She had you almost two years after their wedding, but she really wanted a son. And, she did finally have a son when you were just two. But he lived just three weeks and he died in his mother’s arms. Then, they adopted Jimmy. I never understood the way your mother treated you and Jimmy. He could do whatever he wanted and she acted as if he were a little prince. You? I can’t tell you how many times I stopped her from beating you when you were a little girl. She seemed to hate you at times. Maybe it was because of your dad, George. He had a lot of problems, for sure, but he always had time for you. I don’t know if you will remember, but he took you with him many times and left Jimmy with your mom. I think he did it to protect you. And, maybe she was jealous of that. He had another son with another woman in Wilmington before he knew your mother, and maybe she felt like she had to compete with that child and his mother. For you, there was no competition. You were the only girl.

The night you were born, Dr. Phipps came into the waiting room to talk to your dad and he told him that your mother was doing fine and he had a baby girl. All George said was, “Well, at least she won’t have to go to war.” It wasn’t too long after your birth that he left the army with an honorable discharge and joined the Hopewell police force. I think he was worried he’d get sent away and didn’t want to leave you. If you look at the photos your mother took of you as a baby with your dad, you can see he adored you. I wouldn’t be surprised if your mother was jealous of that, too.

I don’t know how you grew up to be as sensible and stable as you are. I was amazed that you made it through high school with all that happened with your mom and dad. I’ve wanted to tell you about this for a long time, but I didn’t know if you could handle it. I hope you can handle it now.

A nostalgic moment ...

As long as I can remember, I have loved ballet. When I was a little girl, maybe five or six years old, my mother enrolled me in Mrs. O'Laker's dancing school in my hometown of Hopewell, Virginia. And, how I loved going to ballet class! It was my escape from the pain of childhood ...

We had to wear black leotards and pink tights with pink ballet slippers and my mother got me a little pink bag with the silhouette of a ballet dancer on it. I can clearly remember my excitement before each class, knowing I would get to wear my "dancer's clothes" and do plié and jeté, and at the end of class I could try to do a pirouette (to whirl or spin). I remember the day I did a complete pirouette and Mrs. O'Laker didn't correct me or scold me for incorrect technique --- It was a day of complete and utter joy!

I've taken ballet classes off and on for years. Today, some 50 years since that first pirouette, I am still doing ballet. Twice a week I don my black leotard, black tights and my pink ballet slippers and I take class with retired ballerinas who dance much better than me. But, one thing is certain: no one dances more enthusiastically than me! I may not be able to do double pirouettes because of an old ankle injury, but the single I can do is done with as much precision and good technique as I can muster!

I don't have any illusions that I'll dance on a stage, for that's not why I do it. I do it because it feels so wonderful! I love the barre work and I am challenged by the center work. For the hour or 90 minutes of class, I am so busy thinking about which way my foot should point, is my elbow up, are my shoulders down, am I holding my stomach in and lifting up out of the rib cage that I simply don't have time to think about anything else. Ballet is as good for my head as it is for my body and I simply cannot imagine life without it!

The photograph above was recently given to me by an aunt. I'm the tall one. The little girl is my cousin, Sharon, and we were "ballerinas" one day while our mothers were doing whatever it was they did when they got together. The little boy is my brother, Jim, and he is still a superhero and cat lover. He has four cats at his apartment and has always had cats ... as long as I remember.

I have a little mobile hanging over my desk of a dancing fairy with a pink ribbon tied around her waist and little charms with these words:

There ARE shortcuts to happiness
and DANCING is one of them!