Smack dab in the middle of my first ever writers’ conference, I heard from my cousin.
The cousin who is the only child of my mom’s only sibling. The cousin with whom I’ve logged hours of car rides, video games, and eye-rolling. The cousin who hasn’t talked to me for three years.
“Kim, I know we haven't spoken in a long time, for that I am sorry. I don't know if you even want to hear from me, but I wanted to let you know Mom passed late Monday, early yesterday morning. I hate telling you this way, but I didn't know if you would take my call. My number is the same if you wish to talk.”
Aunt Bobbi gone. It’s only me and Ryan now.
When I read Ryan’s message, I started to cry. Even though I hadn’t seen or heard from Aunt Bobbi since 2006.
I called G and then my best friend, Cheryl, to tell them, to rid me of the tears and shake off the initial shock of hearing from Ryan. Their first reaction was to protect me. This week, of all weeks, I get this message, this news about Bobbi.
What brought me to my first writers’ conference? Writing about my family. I submitted several essays from this Substack, closing my eyes and clicking the submit button. And I was accepted.
I’d say that I worked hard in the last two years to get here, but really, it's taken my lifetime. Loving my family, their trying to love me, rejecting them, recuperating from them, loving them again.
The details of Bobbi’s death seemed too familiar. She and Ryan hadn’t been speaking (sense a trend?), so he found out his mom was taken to the hospital by a phone call in the night. He rushed to the hospital but she was already gone. She’d let a damaged heart valve go untended and was recently diagnosed with uterine cancer, left untreated. Ryan found this out at the hospital.
Bobbi and her husband, Bob, (you heard right, Uncle Bob and Aunt Bobbi) don’t loom large in my writing about the family. They were both over six feet tall, stocky and imposing, but they were the weaker ones in the family hierarchy. They were the followers, not the leaders. No one went to them for advice. They were the ones who always needed something from the rest of us, help with taking care of their kid, help paying their bills.
Bobbi was the opposite of my mom. She told ghost stories and introduced me to Ouija boards. She babysat me while Mom worked full-time. She took me and Ryan out to eat instead of making lunch for us. She bought the impulse candy and toys while waiting in the grocery store line, even when she couldn’t pay her electric bill.
She loved her husband.
She was a terrible mother.
G wanted to make sure that this news from Ryan didn’t derail me, didn’t distract from my work at the writers’ conference. So many times, my family has done just that, stopped me from doing what I want to do, what I’m meant to do.
Not this time.
Thank you for taking the time to read my work. I care about you. Please don’t forget to eat your greens.
Very very sorry for your loss. I know what it feels to have a complicated family. Don't let the emotional chaos stop you from pursuing what you love ❤️ wishing you all the best xx