Family, It’s Never Too Late

My mom called Thursday night to tell me my Aunt Mungie, who lives back East, passed away earlier that evening. She is one of my late father’s surviving four sisters that I wrote about in a previous blog titled The Queens From Whence I Came. She was a private person so I won’t go into detail about her passing, but she had a chronic medical condition and a few other diagnoses the past few years that were just too much to overcome. I knew she wasn’t doing well. I knew it, but I had not spoken to her in years because I didn’t pick up the phone to call her. Not even when my mom called a short while ago to tell me Aunt Mungie had had a stroke and was asking for me and my sister Michelle, who live in California.  I can’t really tell you why I didn’t call her. Part of my thinking was that I didn’t have my cousin Debbie or Dawn’s phone numbers. But I found out when I called them this weekend that their numbers were on my cell phone. If I’m being honest I was probably afraid to call her after so much time and maybe I didn’t want to have to face how sick she’d become. She was an awesome aunt and the center of her family unit. She was such an active dynamo right up until she physically couldn’t be. She was irascible, never a complainer, a straight shooter with a great sense of humor. You never doubted her love and concern. Her daughters were part of a passel of big cousins I looked up to as a girl and as a woman. It was too late to start calling back East Thursday night so I went to bed. I woke up to a private Facebook message from one of my sisters, who lives back East.

Let me explain that I have five sisters and 1 brother. We are all the children of my father, Billy Harty. I was raised by my mother with my sister, Michelle, who is five years younger than me. My mom married my Dad out of high school then left him when I was 7 or 8 years old. My brother, Bobby, is the oldest grew up with his family in Pennsylvania, without my our Dad. There are three sisters, Yana, Megan, and Myla, who lived with their mom, Teri and Daddy until his death in 1998. I have another sister Rena, who was born and raised in San Francisco with her mom, Marilyn and for a very brief time, Daddy. Daddy was the “glue” connecting us to his side of the family when he was alive. He took the initiative to take Teri and the girls to family functions. He flew Rena out to Pennsylvania for a few weeks every summer to get to know her sisters. He stayed in touch with his own sisters. He kept me and my sister Michelle informed on what was going on with his family. Then he died in 1998. Michelle and I went back for his funeral. Rena’s mother sent her back too. It was the first time all of his children had been together in one place. It was surreal. I reconnected with all of my aunts, uncles, cousins and old family friends. Then I lost my connection to them for 10 years.

Getting back to my sister’s private message Friday. She was heartbroken over Aunt Mungie and overwhelmed with guilt for not seeing the family over the years. She wanted me to know, in case the sky opened up tomorrow, that she loved me. I was so moved by her message and I could relate to the guilt. I urged her to love the ones who are in her life now, that it’s never too late and, of course, I loved her too. Plus, she was the only relative from back East that has read and acknowledged my blog. We keep connected through Facebook. Friday night after work, I dove into my tub of photos and found all of the pictures I took when I went back for Daddy’s funeral. The emotion and grief overtook me when I found that first picture of Aunt Mungie standing next to Aunt Marie in Marie’s kitchen because everyone gathered at Marie’s house every day. I spent Friday evening posting pictures to my Facebook page of my Aunts with their children, my cousins with #FlashbackFriday. I normally compose my blogs the night before they post. For Saturday, I decided to put up a link to a previous post about my paternal grandmother, my aunts and my mother with a sentence about love and legacy with a small tribute to Aunt Munge.

Saturday morning I woke up and following my own advice to my sister, I called Aunt Marie. I don’t know why I was so nervous or concerned, it was an amazing call. I got to listen as Aunt Marie talked about Aunt Munge’s last days because Aunt Marie and Aunt Munge’s best friend went over every day to help with her. Aunt Marie is a character and she was able to share some of the lighthearted moments as well as some of the heavier truths about the reality of caring for and connecting with her sister. I got filled in on the family. My next call was to Aunt Marva, who surprised me by reminding me that she keeps tabs on me through Facebook. We talked about how big my grandbabies are getting and how beautiful they are. She was as kind, considerate and reassuring as ever with not an ounce of censure for not calling for so long. From my Aunt Patty, I found out Aunt Munge had made all of her funeral and service arrangements, including full payment back in 1998. The year Daddy died.

Throughout the weekend I received a call from my middle child, Lyndon, to see if I was ok and to talk for a little bit. I talked to my Mom Friday night and my sister Michelle Saturday morning. This morning I received another private message from the same sister back East. She’d called and spoken to Aunt Marie too. She was feeling a lot better and thanked me for encouraging her with my message that it’s never too late.