They call her Chickie because of her affinity for Chicklets.The soft and gooey, the sticky and colorful- would describe my aunt perfectly with her hugs, or words of encouragement- the daily quotes she posts to her facebook wall. Colorful and loving- someone who’s shaped my life with passionate words, thoughts and the idea that “Kate will change the world.” Her favorite story to tell is when I tried to con her out my usual bedtime to tell her stories or say, “Aunt Chickie, I have an idea.”
My mother and Chickie grew up on the south side of Chicago, and wore their hair high and coiffed to perfection.
I always imagined it as a glamorous life; drinking beer and playing cards while mom waited for a letter from my father telling her that he was missing her, or coming soon- off the RSS William Pratt.
A stroke came first- robbing her of her words and dexterity. Mom and Dad visited often and soon, the words were flowing as before, and the person who was recognizable by face, came alive once again, just softer.
My mother called to tell me this evening. I picked up while in the bath and didn’t stutter until she spoke, “She said she’s had a good life.” The ‘not fairs’ of life sometimes plague me when I allow myself to think about it. Why god couldn’t take say, one of the two hundred drug addicts I see march into work daily, or perhaps the lady that beats her children and just can’t seem to get off welfare- is beyond me. It’s hard not to judge when you could walk around and point to those that don’t offer the encouragement or positivity that she does. It’s not right, but then again- the line is often blurred by emotion.
Pancreatic Cancer. I just remember thinking: It’s such a bizarre thought that the body part I think less about- took my grandfather, and is violating my beautiful aunt.
She’s been quiet lately- no quotes on her wall- I suppose we all have to stop and think- our life is a firework in the sky, brilliant and colorful.
I wrote on her wall, “I love you so much.” And it was true in the way that the world is better, simply because she is still here- saddened, no doubt: but still aflame with the very being of who she is.
The words are there, Aunt Chickie, and when you’re ready, they will quietly whisper.
