My Aunt Ginny was 11 when I was born. She was more like a big sister to me than an aunt. I remember lots of good times with her. She took me to see Mary Poppins and said she cried (or nearly did) for the little old birdwoman.
I was “Junior Bridesmaid” in her wedding and once, when my mom and I were having a tough time, I decided wanted to move in with my aunt and uncle (either them or my Grandma and Grandpa). I even harbored a secret fantasy that Ginny was actually my mom, conveniently ignoring the fact that she was still a child when I was born.
Visits to Illinois used to be extra special when we got together — often for a day of shopping. We even stayed with Ginny and her husband, Jack, a few times while we were in the area.
A couple of years ago Ginny and Jack moved to Mississippi and never looked back. I felt betrayed, but really couldn’t blame them — after all, I escaped the Midwest too, didn’t I?
They’re very happy in Mississippi. I hope to see them again someday, but I’m sure it will be on their turf and not ours. It’s possible they’ll never see my kids again — after all, the kids are going to be off on their own before too long and won’t be taking many more family trips with us. Mississippi just isn’t necessarily on the radar any time soon. We’d planned on visiting them soon after they moved to Missisippi, but circumstances prevented it.
I think that I’m just going to have to put my foot down and pay them a visit, with or without my husband and kids. I don’t see any other way, really. Sometimes the world seems like a smaller place these days, but other times it seems far too large.