When I was growing up, there were the aunties. Auntie Clara and Auntie Mary are the two I remember. Auntie Mary was my grandmother’s sister. She always played the piano at parties, and everyone sang along. Singing was traditional at all family parties. I can see still the crowd in the kitchen at my parent’s house singing St. Patrick’s Day songs. My father stood by the counter, and I loved to listen to him sing. He had a great voice as did my mother.

In time, my parents and their siblings became the aunties and uncles. My mother had seven siblings, my father two. My Uncle Jack led the chorus in the kitchen. He loved Bing and thought of himself as a vocal kin. He’d get a ride from one of his kids every Friday to my parents’ house. They played games and sang in the kitchen as always. Once in a while, on a Friday, I’d get a late call. I’d pick up the phone and hear, “Leenie, Leenie,” which my uncle called me. We’d chat a bit then he’d ask if I wanted a song. I always said yes. When I was in Ghana, my sister put together a mixed tape of songs from the radio so I’d know what was new. When I listened, all of a sudden I heard my Uncle Jack singing a Bing song. He had seen my sister taping and wanted in. It was the most wonderful surprise.

My cousins and my siblings are now the aunties and uncles with grown children and grands. I am Aunt Kat.

Yesterday my phone rang at 8:15. The machine came on before I could pick it up. My sister left a message, and her voice alerted me that something horrible must have happened. I thought my Uncle Jack had passed, but it wasn’t Uncle Jack. It was my nephew Michael who had turned 39 last week. My brother, his father, found him. Michael was my godson. I have no words. I forget for a minute then I remember. I didn’t think this year could get worse. I was so very wrong.