To the unsung heroes out there, and to glimmers of hope
After a brief battle with cancer and a lifetime in Peoria's poorest schools, a goodbye to the most selfless person I've ever known
There is a card sitting on my dining room table with two $20 bills next to it. Forty bucks for me because I just turned 40. The card has an avocado on the front with a hole in its belly and on the inside says “holy guacamole, it’s your birthday!” My Aunt Fran loved funny cards. Two days after I opened the card and remembered that she’d sent me $40 because she always sent me the exact amount of dollars for each year of my life, my dad texted to let me know she had passed after a brief battle with cancer that took her very quickly. She was 70.
My Aunt Fran lived a difficult life in which her middle son was taken from her in a car accident when he was just 19-years-old back in 1998. She was a lifelong teacher and taught in some of the poorest schools in the worst neighborhoods of Peoria, patiently guiding kids who were autistic and mentally challenged in an environment in which they seemed at times to be discarded by nearly everyone around them. My aunt was a martyr who did everything for everyone around her and didn’t take enough care of herself. She was utterly selfless. She leaves behind two sons a few years older than me and a grandson, who is in his early 20s.
People like my Aunt Fran used to be more like the average. Now, they seem like the exception — at least, if our grim politics is any reflection of American life. Gone are the days when people like my Aunt Fran — a worker among workers, a humble servant of the community, a bright light in the surrounding darkness — are heralded as society’s best. Now, people like her are seen as suckers by a not-insignificant portion of Americans who view any endeavor that doesn’t result in riches, prominence or simple attention as a waste of time. Anything that doesn’t make your life better can’t possibly be worth it. Anyone other than you or your’s is not worth saving, this thinking goes, whether they be Ukranians fighting off an invading army or migrants at the southern border seeking a better life. Americans have forgotten what it’s like to suffer, and have confused minor inconveniences for oppression. Many of us have lost the ability to think of others.
Service, commitment, the betterment of the collective, responsibility, and kindness seem like they have increasingly little place in today’s society. I would say that those ideals have almost no place in the Republican party and certainly not among anyone who supports Donald Trump, but that is weirdly not true. There are millions of Aunt Frans who make their communities a better place and yet still support a person who has never thought of anyone but himself. How they can twist themselves into this support, which goes against everything that they stand for, is the confounding question of our time — and perhaps the catalyst for our doom.
My mom is saddened by Fran’s passing but is relieved she has finally found some peace that perhaps eluded her in life. A few months ago my mom’s friend sent her an inspirational piece of writing that encouraged people to look for little “glimmers” in everyday life. These small, shining moments of hope can be found in anything from a smile from a stranger at the grocery store to a memory of a child playing in the leaves brought on by autumn’s changes. My mom tries to find them in moments like those of this past week, when she lost her only sister. I try to find them, too, even though it’s really hard at times considering all the terrible things I have to look at and know about.
I guess the glimmer that I’m imagining right now is more of a broader idea, because I just can’t seem to keep anything simple. That idea is an imagining of the brightness my Aunt Fran brought to the children she taught. Despite the circumstances — a dilapidated school, Xeroxed copies of books because the district couldn’t afford new ones, donated art supplies, neighborhoods of crime, violence and abandoned homes — Fran showed up everyday with a smile on her face and an attitude that those kids deserved the best, even if society had decided they weren’t worth it. In sports, you’d call that an all-timer. Fran got up everyday and played hard, regardless of the odds stacked against her and her students. That’s a commitment to the greater good that many people will never fully understand, and it’s my glimmer for today.
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P.S. The photo on this post shows my Aunt Fran dressed up for Dr. Suess’ birthday. On another note, I’ve adjusted the subscription model for American Doom to make it a better deal to sign up for an annual subscription. Paying by the month still only costs $5, which adds up to $60 by the end of a 12-month period. Or, you can pay $50 and get American Doom for the whole year. If you want to become a “founding member,” you can throw $60 my way and I’ll do a little dance for you… wait, no, I’ll email you and ask about some stories or topics you’d like to see covered, then write about them. Thanks as always for supporting this newsletter, and remember, if you like what you see here, please tell a friend.
Your Aunt Fran was the first person in the door and the last to leave at the school, always carrying with her something she remembered someone needed. Always leaning in the office to ask if I had eaten lunch. She would always say, “you don’t have to put me on the payroll for today I was just helping out”. Doing anything that needed to be done and most times she didn’t have to be asked she was already on it already had seen the need and taken care of things before anyone knew to ask. Introducing herself to new faces “Hi, I’m trouble “ leaving me loving notes on my desk with a treat always signed “love, Trouble” when my daughter moved away to college she sent her letters, even though they never met.
She was literally a joy, a light in dark spaces. Rest in peace Trouble