I often look at my feminist career aunt with wonderment. She had it “all”, got to have the career, got to be the first generation of strong C-suite managers, had everyone in the building afraid of her (because, of course, she had to be impatient and cunty to be ‘taken seriously’) for years, she left that embarrassing, uncivilized small town life behind her….
yet she spends her days dying alone, surrounded by foreigners she pays out of the hundreds of thousands she saved for her “easy”, “relaxing” life in retirement. She never wanted anything to do with us, she would grimace when the kids tried to give her a hug and loudly say “I’m just not a kid person, thanks”.
Today I’m pretty sure she hated being around us because it reminded her of her roots, maybe even scared her when she saw how happy her sisters were in comparison. All that cool stuff she bought with her career lucre is in a landfill today, very little of it was made from true, lasting quality. Instead of everyone moving her absent-minded body into a home and fighting over all her amazing stuff, we were talking about who would become the steward of her father’s “old”, “ratty” tools.