I Can't Let January Go By

Darlene, my oldest cousin, was born on January 1, 1944. Being a decade older than myself, she always seemed smarter and wiser than me. She tolerated me about half the time, another fourth of the time she truly spent caring for me in her own special ways, and the last fourth of time spent in her presence, she could be downright mean and nasty. I was the oldest of my own siblings, so having her in my life seemed to teach me some of her bully traits, so that I could pass them over to my younger brother and sister when necessary. But it also taught me not to be quite as harsh in the unleashing.

Most of the time She would be found with a book in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I would be amazed at her long, pointed, and painted nails. I would watch her smoke, her full lips were often adorned with red lipstick. Some women can't wear red, well, but she could. And she wore thick glasses, but they were always the stylish ones. She was a tall, big-boned woman, but she was also sophisticated. This memory was all occurring in the sixties when clothes were orange, pink, lime green and patterned in swirls and large paisleys. The shoes were pointed and vinyl. There were matching purses and scarves, too.

Although considered a full bodied woman, she was graceful and feminine. Her voice was tender except when it wasn't. And she could sing well, too. My mother told me that she had sung to me when I was a baby, so maybe that is why I loved her soft spoken drawl and her laughter appealed to my soul.

As a child, there had been turbulence in her parent's early life together. They married and divorced twice and then remarried once more after that, which lasted the rest of their lifetime together. My aunt spoiled her and doted on her. My uncle was the silent parent when he was home. And she was the only child.

In high school, she was smart and made excellent grades. She had a few girlfriends (just platonic ones.) And they all loved Elvis. I remember her bedroom being plastered with magazine pictures of him from wall to wall and the record player was alive with his music. Back then, I thought she was having a personal relationship with him and I was impressed. But I was only about five years old at the time.

Darlene was also the first person in our family to graduate from college. She went on to practice her degree in Medical Technology, eventually becoming a laboratory supervisor. She had moved out of the small town where her parents made their home and branched herself out to places like New Orleans, Louisiana and Reno, Nevada.

As her career advanced, so did her travels. She went to places in Asia and Europe. When she came back home to visit with all of us, she would bring picture slides for the projector so we could see what she had experienced. She would also bring us all exotic gifts and they were perfect. We were enthralled and admired her so much.

She also bought herself a 1965 red convertible Mustang. She drove it from Reno back "home" to North Louisiana. Our only male cousin, Mike, was then stationed in San Diego in the Navy, and he came along with her for a visit. I don't know what we hugged first, my cousins or the Mustang, though.

I still have letters that she and I wrote to each other during those years. I was living with her parents because I was a confused and angry teenager that didn't get along with my mother. My aunt and uncle could do more with my attitude and I truly loved being around them. My mother and siblings didn't live too far away, though. But back to the letters. I felt special when she wrote and she always gave me "big sis" advice that I heeded.

Not long ago, I was going through old letters and paper journals Darlene had written. I was embarrassed when I read that she had lost her virginity at age twenty-seven. As I said, she was ten years my senior. I lost mine at age seventeen, the same year. I had to marinate on that awhile. She had been so private about that part of her life and I felt like I had intruded.

She had married only once. It was a very, very brief marriage. She had been in her forties and I had been her matron of honor. I am so happy that she had experienced that with a bridal shower and all the hoopla, but in a private, family setting. But her husband was an alcoholic and really not in her caliber of character or intelligence. The union didn't last six months.

I moved away in the eighties and Darlene took an early retirement. By that time, she had health issues and so did her parents. She lived with them. We all went on with life and eventually we grew a little apart. I wish I had continued with the letters during those years, but I didn't. I was busy with teenagers, nursing school, an inevitable divorce, and then my nursing career. We would lose my aunt and uncle and Darlene would be alone. My mother stayed with her for awhile. They had always had a special relationship, too. The age gap between them only sixteen years. But then my mother's health took a nosedive and she came to live with me after my children had become adults.

During those years, Darlene and I spoke often on the phone. She had battled with lung and throat cancer, had rehabilitated and strengthened, and had traded her fear of impending doom to one of renewed hope. I was so happy for her. I had stayed overnight in the hospital the night before her last lung surgery and stayed for recovery in the ICU. The night before surgery we had the best visit ever. We talked about our past, the future, and recalled so many, many good times. We laughed and we cried. She held tight to a picture of two of my grandchildren that my daughter had sent. She told the nurses in the ICU that they were her grandkids. It was okay. I was happy to share with her. She had shared her parents willingly with me.

I went back to Texas to care for my mother and do my Nursing Instructor role. Darlene went back home and wore the Life Alert necklace that I insisted upon, as she recovered. Finally, after months went by the scans showed no cancer. She even recovered enough to make a surprise solo road trip to Texas to share Christmas with us. I was heartbroken when I saw how bad her feet were from diabetes. She had wounds I helped to dress. Yet she refused to go to a skilled nursing facility and she continued to smoke.

My mother would relocate to Heaven in April of 2013. The following year in April, on my way to work, I could not reach Darlene. I tried that day after work, and still no answer. That evening, I tried again. I argued with myself that she was probably out of town at her doctor's visit. The next morning, still no answer. I called the local police in the small town to do a welfare check. They told me there had been a terrible storm and trees were down and power had been lost in some places. But when they checked, she was also down. She was down on the floor beside her wheelchair, no longer with us. Her life alert on, but the phone was blinking on and off. A few days later, I would be carrying a box with only her ashes to bury next to her parents and the rest of our family. She would have been eighty years old today.

I still hear her voice and I still have her letters. And every time somebody says something about Elvis, I think of Darlene. This one is for you, Darlene: