God, she would have hated how she died; it was so… not her. First of all, her death bed was a run-of-the-mill hospital model with boring, white sheets. No duvet, no throw pillows, nothing. Then, her outfit? A thin, cotton gown. The light blue was hardly her color. Don’t even get me started on her complexion: those damn fluorescent lights bleached her to a meek milk color. Her hair was sullied, not permed nor dyed that vibrant red color she loved. She’d be sure to haunt Uncle Bob for not keeping her presentable.
Regarding Style
The Aunt Susie I knew was a connoisseur of many riches. While she dressed rather modestly, the way she decorated was enough to make Auntie Mame jealous. She ornamented her South Lyon condominium floor-to-ceiling with her treasures. She spent the majority of her pension on hand-woven rugs from Nepal, Tiffany lamps, Swarovski crystals, tea sets from Japan, etcetera. The carpet and walls were both a stark white, allowing every piece to stick out and grab her guests’ attention. I always admired the red velvet couch the most, though I knew it was never meant to be sat on. There were a lot of things I wasn’t supposed to touch. It was like being in an art museum. Her favorite form of craftsmanship was the clock. She had hundreds of them. Grandmother, grandfather, wall, coo-coo, you name it. When the hour struck, the entire house would explode into a thunderous roar. Everyone swore her excessive collection was tacky. Upon hearing this, she bought three more clocks.
Regarding Bill, Her Brother
Susie’s parents moved to Detroit from International Falls, Minnesota, after she was born. They jumped houses from 12th Street to 35th Street. The house she’d remember growing up in
was very plain, only filled with the essentials an immigrant family could afford. It didn’t reflect her individuality or the woman she would become at all.
Half of her childhood was spent in London, Ontario. Her mother, Rohelia, would pay distant cousins to babysit her and her brother on a farm there.
“Your grandfather would put me on the pig’s back, telling me to ride it like a horse. I
thought nothing of it; that it’d be fun. The damn thing threw me off within seconds! I was a muddy mess. The old woman hosed me down by the side of the barn. I was shaking, it was so cold. Then I saw that bastard out of the corner of my eye,” Susie would glare, pointing to Grandpa Bill across the table, “laughing to himself and blowing a kiss at me.”
She might’ve sworn at him in Ukrainian all the time, but she loved her brother. He was the one constant in her life. He had been there when Rohelia left them in their buggy outside, only to be protected by their dog while she went grocery shopping. He was with her when they were ‘coat-checked’ so Rohelia could meet one of their ‘uncles’ in the dance hall. They had a lot of ‘uncles.’ During the Depression, when Rohelia worked two jobs, Bill made sure Susie practiced her English, finished her homework, and ate something before bed. He loved his sister so much, he gave her the nickname, ‘Susie.’ No one was sure where he got it from since her real name was Marion, but everyone agreed it suited her better. She wasn’t a cold, strict ‘Marion.’ She was a carefree, reckless ‘Susie.’
When they were still very young, Susie attached herself to her brother, tagging along anytime he hung out with his friends. When they went swimming at the YMCA, she’d follow him into the boys’ locker room. She’d laugh about the memory while at our dinner table,
“‘Nope. Turn around. The girls’ locker room is over there,’” he’d tell me. “I was too young to realize why I wasn’t allowed in.”
He was also the one to teach her about menstrual periods:
“I was petrified. ‘I’m dying,’ I told him. But he just shook his head and put his hands on my shoulders, ‘You’re not dying. This just means you’re a woman, okay?’ After that, he bought me my first belt and pad cloths.”
He was her brother, her parent, and her best friend.
When he served in WWII, she wrote to him as much as possible. Sometimes, all he had to write back on was toilet paper. The delicate messages meant everything to her. She preserved them in a small stationary box until her final days. While these letters held a mixture of the gruesome realities he faced and his wistful longing to return home, Susie’s letters were filled with town gossip, allowing Bill a small escape from the trenches. She told him about how Rohelia now went by ‘Rachel’ and how she’d tell Susie to call her ‘Ray’ instead of ‘Mom’ whenever men were around. Susie also spilled that their mother had taken his car on various joyrides with her gentlemen callers. But, of course, she couldn’t ignore how much pain he was witnessing and how lonely he felt so she’d also reiterate how much she loved and missed him, too. In an effort to help, she’d ask if he or his unit needed any supplies. He always replied that they needed socks and underwear; after all, they were in the trenches. They were rarely able to shower and tried their hardest not to develop ‘trench foot’ like the poor bastards in the First World War. Susie saved up her money and shipped over two hundred pairs to them. Bill had also mentioned that seven men in his unit never received letters from anyone. He told her how it meant everything to hear from people who cared if they’d make it home alive. She wrote to all of them for the rest of the two years they fought alongside her brother.
Regarding Second Chances
When Bill married my grandmother, Jeanette, Susie built up walls. She’d come into their house in Inkster with white gloves, swiping the counters for dust. She’d stay for dinner, only to click her tongue and gag at whatever was on the end of her spoon. She acted selfishly and childishly, stealing her brother away from his family to have secret dinners at her house. She figured the man who had done everything for her deserved better.
Over time, Susie reached out to Jeanette. She’d come over to their house and sit at their kitchen table, ranting about whatever stupid thing that my great-uncle Bob had done to piss her off:
“Damn Momma’s Boy. He’s still on the tit, that one!”
It wasn’t until Jeanette was diagnosed with emphysema that Susie fully broke down and accepted her as a sister.
“C’mon, Jeanette, I went to three different cities to get you your favorite: mini eclairs! If you don’t eat them, I’ll make you eat them,” she’d tease.
She even massaged Jeanette’s feet whenever she was lying on the couch, too out of breath to speak. Susie had no problem filling the dead air.
Susie’s father, Sam, had been absent for the majority of her life. He was a drunkard and Rachel had kicked him out of their house when Susie was only a little girl. He ended up living at the YMCA for a while. Susie saw him from time to time, but he was no father to her. He didn’t know a lick of English, was a simple-minded butcher, and drank away whatever money he earned. The first time she let herself reconnect with him was when Bill was at war. Sam wanted to write to him but he worried his son had forgotten Ukrainian. Although Bill hadn’t, Susie took the opportunity to bond with her dad. She demanded friendly conversation before any writing occurred. Only after he opened up about his day, went to lunch with her, and joked around, would she finally translate for him. Bill caught on to her plan and made sure to write back in English.
When Susie got older, her father started his journey to sobriety. Unfortunately, he still didn’t have the money to live anywhere better than Skidrow. After her first divorce, Susie bought a house in Dearborn Heights. She invited Sam to move in with her on the condition that he fully sobered up. He never drank another drop. Instead, he put his butchering skills to good use, picking out the best meats and learning to cook them to the perfect degree. Every day, he made sure she returned home to a dinner table filled with irresistible dishes. Once he was anchored in his rehabilitation, Sam helped the other men in his life stop drinking too.
Rachel was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s towards the end of her life. She had been living in an elderly community, in her own apartment, and had only left her stove on a couple of times. It wasn’t safe, but Susie let it go, figuring she’d be okay. One day, however, Rachel walked down Michigan Avenue from Telegraph Road to Inkster Road. Fifteen miles, all by herself, searching for Bill’s house. That was when it finally hit Susie: she needed to help the monster. With less confidence than she had with Sam, Susie allowed Rachel to move in with her and her husband. Rachel lived with them for about two years. It was a sufficient setup. She would stay at home while the couple went to work. Yet, as time went on, she made a few escapes. Susie decided that assisted living would be best for her safety. She picked out a place in Taylor and visited Rachel every day. If she had an emergency, she’d force Bill to go, that way Rachel would never feel lonely. Unlike Susie, he hadn’t developed a soft spot for his mother. When he was with her, he’d steal her food and glare at her, pestering her about her prior maltreatment until she would yell for a nurse. When one finally showed up, he’d offer an innocent smile, hiding the empty pudding cup behind his back.
Regarding Male Suitors
Susie went through three husbands in her lifetime. The first was named Kenneth, who cheated on her. She filed for divorce the second she found out. Then there was Grant, who had a crippling gambling problem. She became paranoid about him selling off her belongings and, therefore, divorced him too. Robert, the third one, stuck. I knew him as my great-uncle Bob. They met while working at Chrysler and after dating for a while,
“I looked at him and went ‘So you gonna marry me or not?’”
She always reminisced on the moment with a smirk.
Bob is the exact opposite of her; very quiet, never swears unless he misses a shot while golfing, and will cower to any command. He is also eighteen years younger than her. “Train ‘em young,” she’d say. Of course, there are always missteps in any training process. She couldn’t remember why but one time, she got so mad that she straddled him on their bed, holding a rifle to his nose while he slept.
“You piss me off again, I swear I’ll kill you, Robert!” she yelled, startling him so badly, he smashed his nose into the gun’s barrel.
Still, he stuck beside her until her dying day. Something about her feistiness kept him on his toes. He wasn’t in love with her, he was obsessed; just how she liked it. When she died, he gripped her hand, begging God to let her speak so she could call him a ‘damn Polack’ one last time.
Regarding Money
As Head of Payroll at Chrysler’s Detroit Universal Division, Susie was adored by everyone. It wasn’t because of her title but rather because of what she did with it. Whenever someone was down on their luck, begging for an advance on their paycheck, she’d get it to them. No matter what, she made it happen. She refused to let anyone struggle if she had the means to help them.
When Bill and Jeanette were searching for a home in Inkster, Susie knew they’d be struggling to make ends meet no matter which one they picked. She knew that whatever VA loan he’d qualify for would hardly benefit them. So, she teamed up with Sam and bought the place in full. Instead of having an impossible mortgage payment each month, they just had to scrounge up fifty dollars for her and Sam.
Regarding Fun
Aunt Susie always made her own fun no matter where she was or who she was with. Even in the doctor’s office, she’d fart and look over at the innocent resident,
“Was that you?” she’d ask with a shocked expression.
Who could correct an ‘innocent’ old lady? She reveled in their baffled expressions.
On Christmas, she’d hone in on my unexpecting father. He’d reach over her to place a hot dish on the dinner table only to get his nipple pinched:
“Got your titty, Fat Boy!”
Of course, my father would get her back, causing her to have a tantrum after he ‘accidentally’ called us Australian instead of Austrian. He never saw it coming when she finally broke down, hissing belligerently,
“I hope it shrivels up and falls off!”
She’d won and she’d known it, smiling over at me and giggling.
No one was safe, not even our neighbors. Every time Susie saw Jackie and her daughter, she’d make sure to ask how ‘the girls’ were doing while tapping her breasts, those of which lay right below her waistline.
Regarding Familial Roles
Since Jeanette had passed and we were estranged from my paternal grandmother, Susie stepped in to fill the grandmother-void my brothers and I had. She would do drop-ins at our daycare center, keeping an eye on the staff and making sure we were happy. Of course, if she happened to stop by on a Wednesday, Senior Day at Kohl’s, she’d leave bags of new clothes for us. My mom would come to pick us up and barely see our toddler bodies past the plastic blobs. The staff would just smirk, giving a ‘guess who stopped by’ look.
Susie ordered candy in bulk, always carrying wrapped red jewels in her pocket or coin purse. She’d made dozens of Christmas cookies from scratch, bringing ten different tins to our house. She always gave us cards, even when it wasn’t a holiday. They were beautiful, usually covered in swirls of glitter. The money inside was always one hundred dollars or more. Even when she aged and became weaker, she made Uncle Bob whip up our favorite, her special “Jello Delight.” Of course, she demanded he put it in a crystal bowl with grape vines intricately carved along the sides. What? You expected her to be a ‘normal’ grandma?
Regarding Death
Aunt Susie always believed in Heaven. She knew everyone who had passed in our family was up there waiting for her. She talked about it months before she died. Still, I never expected the ‘goodbye’ that I had gotten from her to be so silent. She couldn’t help it, of course. She was in a coma-like state leading up to the end. We all sat around her bed in the hospice center. Mom held her left hand while Uncle Bob held her right one. She was still with us as we traded stories about her shenanigans. Ironically, SNL’s 40th Anniversary Special played in the background the whole time.
There was a moment before she was fully gone where it seemed as if everyone knew what was about to happen. Dad grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. Joey and Josh sat up stiffly in their seats, eyes trained on her bed. Uncle Bob began mumbling his goodbyes in her ear, telling her it was okay to go. Mom held in a sob and tightened her hand around Susie’s. I sat there confused. I hadn’t felt the magic switch go off. She was lying there just the same as she was a minute ago, an hour ago, a day ago. What was special about now? But, they were right. Within minutes, she was gone and I had spent that time in disbelief. I had wasted my time to say ‘goodbye.’
It took me a long time to realize that I had, in fact, said ‘goodbye’ to Aunt Susie. It had happened a few months earlier, right after we finished Christmas dessert. I followed Uncle Bob as he pushed her wheelchair to our front door. I thanked her, yet again, for forcing Uncle Bob to make the Jello Delight. Dad quipped that he was still pissed that he had to share it with everyone else.
“It’s not just for you, your lordship!” she rolled her eyes playfully.
I chuckled, hugging her tightly and mumbling another ‘thank you,’ this time for the card and the money.
“You don’t have to thank me. That’s what I’m here for. But, you’re welcome,” she joked.
I smiled, shaking my head,
“Call us when you get home, okay? I love you.”
She nodded, looking over at Uncle Bob, making it clear that he’d be the one making the phone call. Then, she looked back at me, winking,
“I love you too, Sweetie.”
Writer To Writer Literary Journal 