What Was Once There Is Now Not

There is a grainy photograph of my hand against the palm of my Aunt Trina’s hand. Who knows how old I was when it was taken, but from the size of my hand, I would guess around five or six. My backyard is perfectly how I remember it being most summer days. The grill is open from the cookout we had: friends and neighbors had gathered around the table and fireplace, eating burgers and brats just the night before. Certain toys are scattered from the patio to the lawn, showing reminiscences of all the kids who had just played there. Of course the swing set still stands, tucked into the back corner of my yard. How tragic it was to see it go, taking with it the hopes of touching the clouds if you just pumped your legs a little harder on the swings. Taking with it the secrets that were shared up at the top of the slide and the games that our imaginative minds put together. Thankfully though, gone with it are the cobwebs that were hidden up in the corners, out of reach, yet you always paid mind to the spider that might possibly be lurking. However, in this photo it is still here. Its wood is still standing strong and its slide is still a bright yellow. I even spot my moms miracle grow plant food sitting on the patio table. Her plants during the summer were her pride and joy. If she wasn’t working and wasn’t with one of my three brothers or I, she was most likely on her way to the plant nursery. Sure, it might have been her seventh trip that month, but she always found a gap along the side of the house or a patch in the front yard that was in dire need of some flowers. To her, getting on her hands and knees, filling her fingernails with potting soil, and sweating underneath the hot midwestern sun, was her way of relaxing. That basically sums up who my mom is.

Coming back to the center of the photo, with my hand pressed against my Aunt, I think about the special relationship I was able to have, and still have with her. Without her own kids, most weeks my Aunt Trina was over at our house, bringing with her Harley, her old shih tzu that stayed alive far longer than any of us thought. I still remember her shiny red suitcase set with gold hardware, something only she would buy. To me growing up, she was an Aunt but she was also something so much more. We had such a close friendship, and often it felt like she was my sister or best friend rather than my Aunt. I would purposefully get on her nerves and she would too. She would pull pranks on me, make up things to trick me or simply chase me around the back yard with the garden hose. Yet, her most prominent feature was how protective she was of my brothers and I. When this photograph was sent to me about a year ago, all these memories and feelings came flooding back. The fact that she has been there through all the parts of my life. Each graduation, from preschool to highschool. Every soccer game and every track and field meet. In my understanding, it is somewhat a unique relationship I have with her. Something I really didn’t realize until going back in time and raking through all the moments we have shared.

There have been plenty of moments where I struggle with my loyalty when it comes to family. To what extent do you keep accepting and looking past their behavior simply because they are blood? Am I disrespecting my parents or my siblings if I continue to have a relationship with someone that has hurt them in the past? Where is the line drawn between being there for family because they are family and creating boundaries after too many people have been hurt too many times? In a big family, there will always be arguments and different beliefs, and I have come to understand that a lot more in my older years. I also have come to realize that my Aunt Trina, through all the fights with my family, has never stopped loving us any less. Just like in the photo, she has been a vertebrae in the backbone of my support system. She has been a hand always pushing me forward, always giving me someone to lean on and always being there with me. While our bond remains strong, and I believe will continue to grow stronger as forgiveness and love seeps back into our whole family, there are certainly things that have been tainted. Just as she was so protective of us growing up, I have become twice as protective of my family: my parents and my brothers. I will love her endlessly and always want her to be with us just as she has in the past. But, now something new is there in the back of my mind that was never there before. A new storage section containing all the moments hurtful things were said or done. All the moments where someone I loved hurt the people I love the most. When I feel the presence of those tensions, those specific words, a newly constructed boundary appears in which I stand on the side of the people that raised me. Still, there is a slight hole in my heart, a sting to my eyes, when we are singing happy birthday or cutting the turkey and she is not there. She is not there taking photos of every single moment, she is not there singing the loudest or nagging you all night. I can’t help but tremendously miss her. What makes it all so hard is that I can forgive, my family can forgive and we can all share our love again, but I can never forget.