While most of the moms in the blogosphere have been mourning the losses of two precious little ones, my family and I have been dealing with a loss of their own. I've delayed blogging about it for two reasons: First and foremost, because once I write it down here and hit 'Publish Post' it is real and actually happened. And, to a lesser degree, because I wondered in the light of the deaths of two babies, who would care about the loss of a single, 42 year-old schizophrenic woman. Today, was her funeral. So now, it's real whether I write about it or not. And as to who could possibly care? I do. And that is enough for me to write this.
Easter Sunday came on the heels of a very successful church youth formal on Saturday night. A very big part of my stake YW calling is to plan and carry out fun, enjoyable youth activities. It may seem a little superficial as far as church callings go, but it requires a lot of time, creativity, and energy to make these things happen and I have to admit that when the youth seem to have a good time; I'm very pleased. They are a tough crowd. And so, I came in around Midnight, left instructions for the Easter Bunny, and struggled to fall asleep in spite of my aching legs and feet. I awoke the next morning to the sounds of kids opening basket goodies and putting on adorable new spring outfits (with cardigans because it was cold and rainy). As usual, I was the last one out the door. Dave was loading the kids into the car when he stuck his head back into the house and said he had some bad news. Being a man, he chose to deliver it like this:
Dave: Hon, I've got some bad news. Umm...your Aunt Mary's daughter, her youngest one, what was her name again?
Me: Leslie
Dave: Yeah her. Umm...she died this morning.
And so began one of the more surreal weeks of my life.
To get technical, Aunt Mary isn't my mother's sister. They've been best friends since grade school. She married a little bit younger than my mom did, and Leslie was her youngest at 5 years older than me. As the baby of a family of four, she relished playing "big sister" to me and my younger sisters. She was good at it. I remember her showing me all the best hiding places for games of hide and seek, how to play games like Pong and Asteroids, not having to wait around for my mom at places like White Water and Frontier City when Leslie came along and ushered us from ride to ride, getting to read 16 Magazine when I was 12, and being introduced to KISS music and pictures of Shaun Cassidy. Most of this took place on Saturday nights in her room while our parents played endless games of RISK at the dining table.
Leslie was a little bit learning disabled, but as most kids do, my sisters and I just rolled with it. Aunt Mary and Uncle Jack never let her use that to excuse herself from being responsible around the house, doing homework, etc...and so she still made for an excellent friend and babysitter. As we got older though, things changed. At first, her mood swings were credited to adolescence, mental immaturity, a long-term kidney infection, and many other things before she was ultimately diagnosed with schizophrenia. One of the hardest things about my late high school and early college years was watching myself pass her intellectually and emotionally. I started going to dances, out to movies, and on dates. She still hung out in her room while our parents played board games in the other room. Between the illness and the learning issues, I think she stayed about 14-16 years old mentally. While I graduated college, traveled abroad, married, and had children; she moved in and out of the hospital, various independent living situations, and group homes. She was happiest at home for the most part, but sometimes needed the solitude of the hospital or the understanding of her peers in the group homes who suffered from similar afflictions. She was aware enough to know she was ill and it frustrated her. And yet, she still remained a huge comfort to her mother during the deaths of her older sister and her father and delighted to continue giving me big sisterly advice when I became a mother. She got overwhelmed by huge crowds and noise, but was always thrilled when I brought them to see her one or two at a time.
We knew that, in addition to her mental issues, she had heart problems. An undiagnosed arrhythmia is what caused the death of her older sister ten years ago and a heart attack took her father seven years later. But her condition had since been monitored and medicated and I guess we didn't give it the thought that we should have. She came home to Aunt Mary's house for Easter weekend, fell asleep on her favorite couch on Saturday night, and never woke up again. I am heartbroken for my Aunt who has now lost two children and her husband in the last ten years, but I can't help but feel happy for Leslie who is free of the demons and afflictions that tormented her and held her back in this life. I say that, and yet it took almost the entire week for me to be strong enough to sit down and write about it. I mean, how do say goodbye to someone you didn't see often, but whose very existence seems written into yours. I mean, she knew and loved me quite literally for my entire life. While I know I must lose my grandparents, older aunts and uncles, and even my parents; I wasn't quite prepared to lose her yet. And it felt like telling the entire internet about it would make it happen just that much sooner.
For that same reason, I almost didn't go to her funeral today. I had a million excuses...pregnant, tired, sinus infection, etc...They were all valid, but mostly, I just didn't want to say good bye yet. Fortunately, my mom called and was worried that dad wouldn't get her to the funeral on time. (A very valid concern if you know my dad.) So, I pulled myself together and made it there (and so did Dad). I'm glad I did. I'm glad Leslie's free. And I'm glad funeral homes are smart enough to put Kleenex in every pew in the chapel. God bless you Leslie, may you finally be at peace.
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