sober lifestyle

Emotion


It makes sense that I would cry at the sight of her signature. The encouraging words my great aunt cared enough to scrawl on Hallmark cards and snail-mail from Chicago to Philly have helped keep my blood pumping — at a 0.0% BAC— over the past 4+ years. To see them jumping off the wall on Nov. 14, what would’ve been her 91st birthday, stretched my heartstrings to the breaking point.

“Can’t wait for Christmas” popped a few of them, I think.

I taped my entire collection of recovery support cards to the mirror in my bathroom, as positive affirmations to start each day. Since Auntie Mickey passed away back in July, I’ve found myself staring at her handwriting, and, like Proust’s madeleine, it’s sent me spiraling into an emotional rabbit hole of family memories. Misty red-and-green-colored memories, now that the holidays are here.

“Auntie Mick” was our annual Christmas Eve hostess, as iconic as mom’s patchwork stockings, dad’s retro bubble lights, or the mysterious cookie crumbs that covered the special Santa plate on the most wonderful morning of the year.

I guess it also makes sense that every flippin’ Black Friday commercial on TV or wintry ad on Instagram has been triggering my tear ducts of late. I hear jingle bell sounds on a podcast break or see a flash of twinkle lights in my neighborhood — there was a truck loaded with pre-cut evergreens, riding down the road the other day! — and I’m suddenly all up in my feelings. ’Tis the season for existential distress!

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sober lifestyle

Remembrance


Denial, with all its cold, numb detachment, naturally came first — and it hung around for weeks.

While I intellectually understood that my great aunt had passed away in the wee hours of July 21, and we’d all more or less braced ourselves for that awful news since she entered hospice care, getting the call from 800 miles away seemed to trigger an old protective reflex: The truth can’t hurt me if I refuse to let it sink in!

(That’s, like, the primary coping tool for addicts, who learn to perform all sorts of complicated mental/verbal gymnastics to avoid acknowledging the obvious fact that their drug/alcohol problem is THE thing that’s driving them to destruction.)

Distance had shielded me from reality, as it pertains to my family, for my entire adult life. Moving away from my childhood home in my early 20s allowed me to keep my Aunt Mickey, my parents, all my caregivers and role models, cemented in my head as they were in my youth.

Auntie Mick (front and center, holding me), whooping it up in the whirlpool at my grandparents’ farm with my dad (back left), mom, little sister, and Grandpa Perz. 😢

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sober lifestyle

Influence


My Aunt Mickey wasn’t one to sugarcoat her strong opinions, no matter who she was talking to, and this was her take on my latest blog post: “It just went on and on and on!” 😳 So, when I sat down to write her a letter of appreciation (see above), I tried to keep myself in check.

(Gotta say, it’s a really bad sign for long-form writers when even 90-year-old family members who ate up everything you created since your keyboard was a crayon suddenly throw up a “TLDR” in response to your work…😑)

Aunt Mickey has always been one of my biggest supporters, and given her declining health, I had an inkling that our most recent trip home to Chicago might be the last time I saw her in person.

She was, true to form, treating us to Cubs tickets — in a luxury suite — on our second day in town, and I was pretty sure that would be the last time my entire family convened at Wrigley Field. So, I spent 15 minutes the morning of the game banging out a little recap of her influence on my life.

When I saw a chance to deliver this message, with Aunt Mickey seated in our box at the stadium, staring quietly at the tarped (but still beautiful) diamond through a sheet of summer rain, I plopped down next to her and read it aloud. Really loud. Had to make sure she heard! 🗣️👂🏻

That was July 2. She passed away in the hospital on July 21 and will be buried in her family’s plot this coming Thursday.

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