moosh in indy.

If everyone in this world could have an Aunt Cheryl the world would be a better place. She has well over 100 nieces and nephews in some form or another and I’m by far her favorite. (My cousin and sister are probably going to try and claim that they are the favorites but don’t believe them, it’s totally me.) That’s the kind of aunt she is, everyone is her favorite. (Or at least they think so, since I am her favorite.)

I’ve wanted to write about her for a long time, and because of my new exceptional friend Ben I’ve decided to go ahead to try. Words aren’t adequate for this woman, I feel silly even trying to put her into words. First, a little background. She was injured at the age of 20, she fell out of the back of a truck before the knowledge of neck injuries and was moved leaving her a c5 quad. (Christopher Reeve was a c3 I believe) I asked my dad about her injury when I was home last fall and my dad recalls doctors and grown ups only giving her a handful of years to live in a hospital. She’s in her late 60’s. As far as I can tell from talking to doctors specializing in quadriplegia she is quite possibly the longest surviving quad in the world, ever. Even estimates doctors gave me for someone being injured today only put life expectancy out to the 50’s. If that’s not amazing enough allow me to keep going. She lives on her own. My grandma lived upstairs until she passed about 10 years ago and now my other uncle lives upstairs. She has a nurse that comes in to help her in and out of bed and with bathing, but everything else? All her. Still not impressed? She has been on an extraction mission for our church since 1982. (Meaning she takes old records from wherever she can find them and extracts the names and adds them to a database for others to do their genealogy research.)

I was lucky enough to spend hours with her everyday after school. Every Friday was our special day to do some sort of special project. We always went to the hospital down the street to have lunch in the cafeteria. The same woman who made my cheeseburger 15 years ago made my cheeseburger 5 months ago. After lunch we would always go to Bill’s 8th Ave Market to do the grocery shopping. I was always allowed to pick one treat. Airheads and those little candy crayons will always remind me of her. She even let me get a whole pint of Ben and Jerry’s one time and watched my eat the entire thing while we watched The Music Man and didn’t make one peep about calories, fat or ruining my dinner. These are my favorite memories. One of the things I most adored doing with her was making taffy. One particular Friday I was clumsy enough to drop a bowl of boiling hot sugar syrup onto her legs and feet. She simply looked over the edge of her tray and said “Boy, glad I can’t feel that.” Another time she fell off the ramp to my grandma’s front door and no one noticed for a few hours. When I stayed the night with her to help take care of her she said, “It wasn’t so bad, a cat came to keep me company and planes kept making me patterns in the sky.” She taught me a love for books, drawing, old movies and musicals and most of all difference. We would go downtown once a year and I remember being so angry at the other kids that stared at her in her wheelchair, I felt protective of her, when really she was protecting me. I rode on her tray for years, and now the moosh does the same. A doctor told her only recently that she has moved down in the world, instead of the c5 she was originally she’s now a c7 or c8. Proof that healing is possible with faith.

She was by my side when I was sealed to my husband for time and all eternity in the temple. Last year I was lucky enough to go through a temple session with her. The kind temple workers came up to me asking if I was going to be able to assist her through the session, talking to me as if she were unable to speak for herself. I turned to her and said “she’s actually more of a help for me than I am for her.” It was that moment I realized that when people see her they see a chair and crippled hands. They don’t see the amazing artwork she can create or the wickedly funny sense of humor. The don’t see that she was one of the few bright spots in my childhood, that she was a safe beacon I could always rely on. She taught me unconditional love in a way no other adult in my life did. Anyone who knows her knows of the magic I speak of. She has never once cried or felt sorry for herself. She’s never once looked for pity or an easy way out. She’s seen death, it’s come to her many times and yet she’s still here. She’s not sure why, she figured the Lord would have been done with her on the Earth a long time ago. But she’s still here, the rest of us need her, I need her.

When I asked her if she ever felt phantom pains she said “all the time.” She went on to describe what a day is like, there are a few moments when she awakens and a few moments before she falls asleep that she feels no pain. The rest of her waking moments are filled with pins, needles and sharp phantom stabs of pain. All day, every day. I never knew this, she never mentioned it before. Even when I dumped boiling hot taffy on her legs. She said she has a recurring dream where she’s chasing a truck through a a field, running, on her own strong legs. I feel selfish because I want her here so badly, she’s been so important in my life and yet she’s in physical pain everyday. I know she can’t live on this Earth forever, and I’ve asked that when she does pass on that she keep tabs on me and my family. I also asked her to be sitting when I get to heaven to be with her, I’m not sure I’d recognize her standing (she’s almost six feet tall, well, if she’d ever get out of that chair, heaven knows she’s rolled over my toes enough times in it.)

Auntie, thank you for living for everyone else. You are the glue of our fairly crazy family. The fact that you can admit that they’re fairly crazy makes you even better. Throw back a Diet Dr. Pepper and know that you will always be my favorite forever.