The Passing of an Era

On December 3rd my Aunt Gwen passed away. I met Gwen when I was just short of 12 years old. She was engaged to my uncle Squirrel (we couldn't pronounce Oliver Earl when we were little), and she was pretty as a picture. I didn't know it at the time, but she was only four and a half years older than I was. But she seemed so grown up to me. She was so sweet that I could not help but love her. She was a special soul, and never changed. We will all miss her.

Gwen was the last of my parents' generation on both sides of my family. The world will little note nor long remember her passing, to steal a phrase from Abraham Lincoln, but to my generation of hundreds of cousins, it is a milestone which gives us pause.

There is a change when both of our parents are gone. Yes, it is true that when it happens many of us are adults who have stood on our own for many years. It is not as though we have depended upon them for help with every decision. But something changes when you are a parentless child, and now you have no one to go to who is older and wiser.

I remember when my grandfather Francisco Muxó passed away. My uncle Ralph, who was the oldest of the children of Francisco and Lolita, thought that he was inheriting the family mantle. But alas, times had changed. Francisco had lead a more or less traditional Puerto Rican family for many decades. His word had weight. But by the time Uncle Ralph assumed the mantle (and assumed that there was a mantle to assume), the tradition of the oldest male being the Godfather of the family had disappeared. Instead he assumed the title of the oldest, y nada más.

I loved my Uncle Ralph almost as much as I loved my dad. Ralph was like a second father to me. But even I never consulted with him about life decisions any more than I consulted with my dad. I don't know about my cousins, but I suspect they were as modern as I was in my independence.

But there is something different about not being able to consult with a parent, grandparent, uncle or aunt. Even though we probably would not seek their advice, it would be nice to be able to do it if we really needed to. We, the cousins, are all there is now. We have known each other since we were knee high to a grasshopper, and cousins are among our first, and longest-lasting friends in life. But there is no comfort whatsoever in being all there is. Cousins are our friends, our blood, and our acquaintances, but they don't have the familial stature of our aunts and uncles. It actually feels like being orphans, and I mean no disrespect to real orphans when I say that.

When my grandparents died, each one left a little hole in my heart. When my parents died bigger holes appeared, and now it feels like fully half of my ticker is gone. Maybe that is why old people die, not because their bodies run out of gas, but because their hearts have so many holes in them.

Garrison Keillor, of The Prairie Home Companion, said in one of his stories that a mother gives a little bit of her beauty to each of her children. I know that my Aunt Gwen did. It is the same with our parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. We are who we are largely because they were who they were. I, for one, am fortunate to have had such good parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. I remember them all fondly, and especially my Aunt Gwen, the last of a generation.