crossing over into the new year

My aunt has been dying for awhile now. And she’s still not dead. She’s in her late eighties and has been in the hospital since Thanksgiving, teetering towards death. On Christmas she was taken off life support, the medical wisdom being that she would die within twenty-four hours. Since then, James Brown, Saddam Hussein, Gerald Ford, and Gabriel Carrillo (Feri priest and subject of countless controversies) have passed over. But not my aunt. It seems like every time I turn on the radio or open my e-mail I find out about another complex character crossing over. But my aunt lingers on.

My mother is recovering from her mastectomy and has shorn her head in preparation of chemotherapy. She’s in no shape to travel back to visit her sister and make her goodbyes, which all in all, may be a good thing. Our holidays growing up were always marked, and sometimes scarred, by one of the battles in their life long war. Last year was the first in many years that my sister and I attempted to spend a holiday with the two of them and our own families. We knew it would be the last, death or no death, given the debacle that ensued. They bickered through the opening of all the presents, arguing about who was receiving better gifts, the intensity increasing as my stepfather plied them with alcohol. When my aunt fell out of her chair, muttering about hating us all, my stepfather and cousin hurried her and my mother out to the car, driving away before dinner was served. My son and nieces were aghast, unbelieving of the scene that had just ensued. My sister and I shook our heads, and laughed in a kind of tired way. Yes, this was not much different from what we’d grown up with, and yes, our kids should be grateful for the childhoods they are having.

This year, my sister and our kids were together again for Christmas. We talked to my mother on the phone, each grandchild reluctantly taking their turn on the phone. The backdrop of the day was the sense of my aunt’s passing on, and we laughed once again, remembering the last Christmas we would ever spent with the two battling sisters. Growing up in a frequent war zone, my sisters and I became allies in the trenches, something I am deeply thankful for. Solstice is my true focus of the season, Christmas the rite I do with my blood family. The wheel turns, and things change. One thing that remains constant is that my family consistently stretches the imagination, even on the death bed. We do not go easily into that good night, that is for sure. My aunt is defying medical science, but I know she’ll go when she’s damn ready. For my cousin’s sake, I’m hoping that will be soon.