The Fine China Must Never Crack

The sound of sirens blaring into the night sky, while multiple colors of burning orange, firetruck red, and blue police officer uniforms blur together in my tears. Two cars lay smashed to pieces in the ditch, as my lungs choke on engine smoke. My heartrate feels sporadic while my feet remain immovable in the middle of the two-lane road. There’s panicked screaming fading in the background, as my memory replays the chaos of what just ensued around us.

The incident ended just as quickly as it began; a drunk driver slammed into two police officers, one being my father. He was getting ready to drop my brothers and me off with family before his upcoming shift. Yet the night had led him to crawling out from his vehicle and my body smashed against a broken window. It ripped against the skin of my arm as the car was being flipped over.

On duty police officers arrived on the scene, EMTs tended to my father and brothers immediately, and seven-year-old me remained frozen from shock, as if my brain could not compute the danger that we had been dragged from. Nothing was processing correctly in my thoughts, and though everyone was rushing about frantically, no one bothered the little girl standing still in the middle of the road.

Not one soul seemed to notice that I held an awkward stance in the midst of everything, as they all ran around like ants defending their nest. Suddenly, a bright flash of head lights broke my gaze from the ground. Looking up, I see a silhouette of a woman’s frame running straight towards me, her oversized sweater swinging to and fro, and her hair blowing against the wind. In the most calming, yet worrisome tone, I hear, “JASMIN?!” Yell out for me.

Breaking the confusion of my daze, the recognition of your voice brings me back to the horrors of my current reality. Straight away, I am able to depict my father being loaded into an ambulance, my brothers sitting on the edge of a fire truck with blankets wrapped around them. The screaming…That terrible screaming, of a distraught woman hollering out, “That’s my mother’s car!”

The tsunami sized wave of emotions finally triggers themselves to set in. I turn back to see you running towards me and my feet begin to move in your direction.

“Aunt Dee!” I remember screaming out as you caught me in your embrace, and a flood of tears seep down my cheeks.

I didn’t know why, but with you it felt like my sense of safety returned. The relief of carrying a weight you can’t hold suddenly being taken by someone else. Almost as if that warm embrace was the transaction of you snatching away my burdens from that night and carrying them upon yourself.

“Are you ok?!” My face in your hands.

“Yes ma’am,” I lie, but I knew you would want to check on everyone else.

You, Aunt Dee, turn to walk away to investigate the rest of the havoc, and I, find myself following you not only that night, but for the many years that followed.

From that moment on, the little girl I was, wanted to know what it took become the woman you are.

I became enthralled in educating myself on how to obtain that same strength. Listening to you speak when you said, “A young lady must always wear a slip underneath her dress.” Being mindful of my posture when you kindly corrected me, “Push your shoulders back so you are not slouching.” Or when you noticed your young niece feeling self-conscious about her weight, I shall never forget, it was you who pulled me out of the public eye to whisper, “I’m going to show you an old trick, try sucking in your stomach.” I took a deep breath in and immediately turned into an awkward looking blow fish, but instead of laughing in my face, you carried on with your lesson. “Good. Now while holding your stomach in, slowly try to breath.”

Though it did not lose the weight for me, I felt a slight boost in my confidence from it. Something I would continuously need throughout the years of my parents’ ongoing custody battle for me. In those emotionally violent affairs, the courts are always able to hear everyone’s point of view, except one, the child’s. No one comprehends these rotting emotions in my heart when I am unable to see one of my parents for unknown legal reasons. Nor does anyone notice the trembling fear of wanting to safely say, “I would like to go to my mom/dad’s house this weekend,” without offending the other parent. In those ugly battles, the little ones are always the paper towels in the puddle of psychological damage.

“Of course, you can come stay with me, sweet girl,” the sentence that will never be forgotten when I called you one Christmas, subtly asking you to pull me out of this game of tug-of-war between two determined parents.

That Christmas season I walked into your home and felt a barrier of protection cast itself upon me. In a month’s time span, I enjoyed the warmth of a family sitting down together, and holding hands to say grace before dinner. I felt the wholesomeness of everyone relaxing in the living room, and fighting our sleep, while watching a movie. I experienced the comfort of knowing I could speak freely to my aunt or uncle, and everyone still be ok with who I wanted to spend time with in that moment. With my own eyes, young Jasmin witnessed the functions of a family orientated home.

I basked in the eminence of a household that permeated auras of love and growth.

My Auntie maintained such virtue that I remember asking, “Between you and I, Aunt Dee, how did you make this house into a home?”

You chuckled and took a sip of your morning coffee, while sitting in my uncle’s chair and proceeded to say, “I dedicate everything in this house to the Lord. Everything in this house has a meaning to God.”

“No way!” I thought to myself, frantically examining your interior design.

“So, if I point to ANYTHING right now, you can tell me a biblical meaning behind it?” I challenge with a smirk on my face.

“Mhmm,” You mindfully sip your coffee.

One hour, seven objects, two cups of coffee, and four bible verses later, I am in awe of every item that holds true to the Lord’s word.

From that moment, the days of falling asleep in the church pews disbursed. Seventeen-year-old me would spend her time studying the word of God more than her own homework. Watching, and learning, just how powerful a bible verse, a testimony, or even a “Hallelujah!” can be in the face of adversity.

“I sat upon that plane!” You screamed into the microphone, causing an uproar among the church, “And the turbulence was terrible!”

“Yes!” Everyone shouted for you to continue.

“But I know my God! And I knew he was gone carry that plane to safety, JUST because I was on it! See I got on the armor of God! Jesus is my victory banner!”

“YES! HALLELUJAH!” Everyone stomped and shouted out.

I watched you allow the power of God compel people to come to Christ. The fire of the Holy Spirit forever awakened in me to know His name, to speak His truth, to fast in His presence!

We give our flowers to the uncles in the family who helped raised the boys into men, but occasionally forget the aunties who led the girls to be women.

I express my love equally to the beautiful souls that played a role in my growth, but Aunt Dee always felt like the first line of defense not just for me, but for the entirety of the family.

“Can one person truly carry that much weight?” I asked myself, “Have I been selfish in not recognizing that my aunt is just as human as I am?”

The epiphany that I have not been doing enough to repay your kindness sinks in, and I jump at any opportunity that arises to assist you.

“Dee, do we have enough cash to tip the limo driver?” Grandmama asked you, while rushing out the door for a special family event.

I see you counting the cash, and launch myself onto the moment.

“Aunt Dee I can write a check right now for you if you need me to,” I quickly reach for my purse.

“That’s ok, Jazz, we got it, thank you, sweet girl,” You smile and continue counting.

Later that evening, you’re cleaning up all the food left over in grandmama’s kitchen.

“You need help washing the dishes, Aunt Dee?” I begin moving to get out of my seat.

“That’s ok, Jazz, I’m just closing the kitchen for mama,” You smile so brightly again.

For the expansion of my life, I always stood back and watched as you bore the burdens of others. Effortlessly, as if it was just a normal thing to do. In our private talks, in our mentor to mentee conversations, I intently listened to the details of the woven intricacies you established for all of us. Every time, in my mind, I could only wonder, “How? How can one person truly be strong enough for multiple people?”

Yet, I remember receiving that unimaginable phone call, as though it were yesterday. That damaging feeling of my heart detaching itself from the veins in my chest and sinking into the bellows of my stomach. Word had gotten out that the Good Lord had called into motion for you to face a series of strenuous tests. The mutilated details of these tests initiated a devasting pain within my soul, as I once again, felt useless in finding a way to shoulder that pressure for you.

Days continued to pass, and no matter how many times my fingers violently fidgeted, or how bad my hair broke off from the stress, I could not find the courage to face you. The coward in me arose while the words of consolation and love, fled far from me, out of the fear that I would say the wrong thing. How do I find the words of wisdom to grant you comfort when you have taught me that manner of speech? The words I would say to you are things you have already heard.

Still, I had to try.

Finally summoning the courage, I felt my intestines shift uncomfortably as I press the ‘call’ button upon your number.

“Hello?” I hear that same sweet, and gentle voice ring in my ears.

Instantly, the thoughts in my head become stunned from the shock from how calm you sound. Again, with everything you are going through, how do you manage to still sound so jovial? What super-human power do you possess that allows you to remain victorious in a course that would’ve destroyed hundreds of other people?

The impact of your voice wells my eyes up with tears, but I swallow the lump of cowardice to clear my throat to speak.

“Hi, Aunt Dee,” I furiously blink my tears away.

“Hi, sweet girl!”

I hear the bustle and busyness of your background.

“I catch you at a bad time, Auntie?” I pry.

“Oh no, I am around people, do you want me to call you later?”

I sigh with a breath of relief, not having the words of comfort to give you yet.

“Yes ma’am,” I do not hesitant, “You can call me whenever you’re free.”

I quickly go to hang up the phone, but not right as I hear the voice of concern, “Are YOU ok?”

Before I could even properly process that statement, I felt the sting of salted tears running down my cheek. The phone in my hand, shaking furiously as my emotions become enamored that even in the face of adversity, my wellbeing is on your list of precedence. Why? Why Aunt Dee? I am the one calling to ask how I can take this load of hurt and grief from you, as you have done so many times for everyone! I have only ever wanted to compensate you for everything you’ve done for me in my life. With all your current challenges, with all your rights that keep going left, with all that weight that surely must have collapsed upon you by now… am. I., ok?!

“Yes ma’am,” I uncontrollably whimper.

I came to the realization of how you rise to every occasion, and why every challenge is met with your subtle death glares. It is because you have been here before. My Aunt Dee, you always knew where it hurt for me because you had felt it long ago yourself. You have already sharpened this iron and now choose to sharpen mine. I can now see why it was effective for you to hold on to me, because once upon a time God called you to hold onto Him.

Instead of allowing those tribulations to cripple you, you chose life, and you chose to KEEP getting back up no matter how much it would hurt to do so.

In my eyes, I could see that you are strong now, because you were once weak just like everyone else. Coming to such a conclusion only made my heart seep into feelings of admiration and sorrow in one accord for you. Just as we can never repay Jesus for the price he paid for our sins; I know I could never fully repay you for the life lessons He allows you to teach me. But I hope a subtle, heartfelt, thank you, every chance I get, will suffice for now.

With Love,

Your niece Jasmin.