My Aunt Carol loved bold and loud. She did not whisper her feelings to the
people she loved. She did not give sweet
kisses and soft hugs. She pushed and
shoved her way through life, dragging the people she cared about along for the
ride. Aunt Carol passed away this
week. She was 88 years old and a perfect
example of big, tough love.
The second oldest of the 11 children born to Fletcher and
Dolly Alewine during the hard times of the 1930’s, she had no time for whining,
spoiled children. Aunt Carol was tough
love at its finest.
Aunt Carol yelled at all of us kids, made us do chores along
with her kids when we visited and didn’t think a thing of swatting us with a fly
swatter if we messed up or making us go outside to play if we had been inside
bugging her too long.
That did not stop me from wanting to go spend time with
my cousins in the summer. Especially when it was Bunko night. Aunt Carol would spend hours making mountains
of snacks and setting up card tables for her Bunko group. My cousin, Sandra,
and I would peep around the corner watching the ladies with their bouffant
hairdos as they popped Juicy Fruit gum and held long thin cigarettes in their Revlon Red nail polished fingers. They were supposed to be there to play
Bunko, but I'm pretty sure they mainly came to gossip and eat snacks. Every now and then, we would hear one of them scream
with delight when they won a trinket from the prize basket. The best part of the night was when all the
ladies went home and we got the leftover cookies, chips and dip and other homemade
goodies. She always had the best stocked pantry I had ever seen.
Carol was my mama’s best friend. There was rarely an event where my mama was
that Aunt Carol was not beside her. She was the Laurel to my mother's Hardy; the mac to her cheese. Inseparable. They finished each other's sentences. Laughed at the same jokes. Mama
said she and her sister were very different but exactly the same in ways that
really matter. I get that. It’s a sister thing.
When my sister was in the hospital and there was no hope of
her getting better, I stood on one side of her bed and my mother and Carol
stood on the other. I took my sisters
hand and told her that it was ok for her to go.
I would take care of her children.
I would make sure her daughter had a beautiful wedding and that her son got a good education. I would be there when she could not.
Aunt Carol reached across that bed, took my hand and said, “Mart,
it is going to be ok.” No tears. No big hugs. No dramatic speech. Just a
hand on mine and a simple message. Everything
will be ok.
But things were not ok.
My sister died. For exactly one
year I was furious with God. I had
prayed for my sister like I had never prayed before. I had made deals with God. I would stop cussing if God would heal my sister. I would never miss church if he would let my
sister live. God lied to me. I
remembered from Sunday School, ask and it shall be given, seek and you shall
find. God did not hold up his end of the deal. For a year, I would not speak to God. I did not pray. Things were never going to be ok. My Aunt Carol was wrong.
For a whole year, I turned my face away from God. I was
furious. But, God is a big God. He can take our anger, our frustration, our
HUMANESS. Slowly, so slowly, I began to see that my
sister’s death was not something that God did TO ME. My little sister’s life was between her and
God. How I reacted to the loss of my
sister was between ME and God. I realized
that I had been ungrateful for the sister I was given. I had not been thankful for the 38 years we
shared on this earth. I started to
realize what a tremendous blessing she was to me. How I am who I am because I grew up with
her. My sister left me her amazing
children who are MY children. The world
is definitely a better place because she was here.
Everything was going to be ok, just like Aunt Carol promised
me, because God’s plan is always ok. Better
than ok. Perfect. So many times, we do not see the perfection
in the plan and that lesson is always so hard to learn, but Aunt Carol
knew. She knew because she had lived
with loss and heartache. She knew
because she knew God’s plan is not always what we think we want or expect. She told me because she loved me. My aunt loved me not only big and loud but
also with a very simple message on one of the worst days of my life: It is going to be ok.
On a hot summer day many years later, I went with my mother
and Carol to see my grandmother. She and I were in the kitchen and I asked her,
“Do you remember telling me that everything was going to be ok when Gail died? It took me a very long time, but I finally
understand what you meant.”
With a very rare tear in her eye, she said, “I always knew
that you would.”
The loss of my Aunt Carol is profound. I can think of so many things we will miss
about her. Her yelling at the TV during
Ole Miss sports, her love for the Memphis Grizzlies, her daily phone calls to
my mother, her always telling mama to tell me that she loved me. All the things that made her who she was to
each of us. She loved God, her family, Ole Miss, tomato sandwiches, watermelon, and her soaps. She loved me loud and clear.
I want to say to Uncle Robert, Aunt Carol’s husband of almost
70 years, and to my cousins, Bobby, Sandra and Pam. It is going to be ok. Maybe you don’t understand. Maybe you are angry. Maybe you feel like God has left you or
forsaken you. But it is going to be
ok. God’s perfect plan is, well, it’s
perfect. Even in loss, it is perfect.
Everything will be ok. My Aunt Carol told me so.
