Barbara Robertson

Dear Aunt Barbara, I hope you know how much Ellie and I wish we could be there right now. I want you to know how much I love you and how frequently I think of you – even if I am terrible at staying in touch. I would give anything to sit on the couch with you and watch a fantasy movie right now, to hold our individual pints of ice-cream, to look at all your beautiful jewelry and hear your stories. I have the fondest memories of your visits, they were a defining part of my childhood – after all, you are our only family member who came and visited consistently. When I think of you, I see the bright patterns of your clothes, the sparkle of the eyeshadow palettes and lipsticks. I can feel the same excitement in my chest as I did watching you unzip your suitcase and unfold dress after dress for us to try on. Most of all I can hear your voice, familiar and loving. We watched old family videos this last Christmas and for many of them it was your voice in the background, you filming hours of Ellie and I performing in different dress up outfits. You always had time for us, time to lay on your bed and talk, time to play dress up, time to watch us dance around the living room… that is a rare gift. When I think of you, I think of you rescuing Brea, tied too close to a wet doghouse, I think of you knocking on the door and asking to take her back to Montana because it was the right thing to do. I think about you telling me stories of your childhood – about the one time you were mean to a classmate and how bad you felt, so bad you never wanted to be mean to anyone again. I thought about that story so often that I am quite sure it played a role in the way I treated my own classmates. I think about you carrying a necklace to Mexico for me to wear at my wedding and of the ruby earrings I put on every time I need to really dress up (or just a little good luck.) I can remember sitting on the porch while you pulled my hair through each tiny hole in a plastic cap, helping me with my first ever bleached highlights. I can see your clogs in the mudroom of our house. See the stack of photographs you would show us, your life in Montana – the horses and cats, Chance and Cynthia. I think of you and I can almost feel you next to me on the couch, almost hear your laugh, hear Ellie ask to see your tattoos one more time. I love you so much, Aunt Barbara, life wouldn’t be the same without you. It would be missing such an important and magical piece, one of my very favorite pieces of all. -Jane

This post is submitted by Elinor Robinson, email: elinorrobinson@gmail.com Aunt Barbara, There are some things I need you to know. I wish so badly that I could be there in person to tell you all of this, but I am happy imagining these words in mom’s voice—the blood bond of mother, daughter, sister, and friend adds some comfort and helps them resonate more deeply. Barbara, I need you to know how much I love you and cherish every visit we’ve had. Each year of my adult life has been a lesson in accepting that we don’t get to share every moment with those we love; that our paths don’t always lead us into the arms of our favorite people. Providentially, though we may not be physically close, the bond of love transcends time and space, allowing us to carry our loved ones with us and keep them present in our lives despite any obstacles. Reflecting on memories of your visits--radiant and lively--emphasizes the clear presence of you in my day to day life. I remember how you would show me your jewelry whenever I asked, how you seemed so happy and open to sharing. I would watch you lay out each piece, seeing it glitter and touching the golden edges. You would tell stories about where it all came from and point out what jewelry was eventually meant for me and Jane. Now, I have the most lovely and special pair of sapphire earrings--I put them on when I need to feel strong, grounded, and protected. I remember being so fascinated with your tattoos, in awe of art that could live on the body. How special it made me feel that you would happily let me look at each one and answer any questions I had about them. Now, with ink down both my arms and scattered across my legs, I feel your presence in each tattoo and am grateful for that early exposure. What a role you played in shaping this part of me that I love! I remember your stories about Chance and Benny, about Maya and Brea’s rescue... all the special pets with their individual, quirky personalities. In a scrapbook somewhere I wrote, “My Aunt Barbara loves animals.” I remember how you described the feeling when an animal chooses you, how you just know. My experience adopting Jedi and then Leela was incredibly serendipitous and the gut feeling I had when I saw their faces was unquestionable. Now, I live in a house with three dogs and my connection with them is full of your presence. I think of you whenever I witness them being special and cute (which is every day). I remember walking up the stairs at Mountain View Manor and being greeted with a surprise visit from you! I have so many glowing memories of laughing with you and Jane. What an added layer of fun an aunt like you brought—a person separate from parents, cool and fun yet still close enough to be tangible. Now, I have nephews and a little niece and Barbara you are so present in the way I show up for them. When I remember your visits, the memory in my body is buoyant and dynamic. My ears echo with bright, carefree giggles of girlhood, and I can see you so clearly—walking down Wrangell Avenue in your yellow raincoat and jeans. I can feel the excitement of watching you unpack yoursuitcase, the air charged with the anticipation of the fun to come. When I think of you, Barbara, it bursts with color—a kaleidoscope of vibrant memories, like the psychedelic coloring book you made, a creation that gave me such a delightful glimpse into your world and perspective. I love you so, so much and I am so happy for every visit we have ever shared. You’ve made such a positive and magical impression on my life. As much as you are always with me, I will always be with you, too. I hope that whatever the next step on your path may be, you take it knowing that you are not alone and that your light has illuminated some of the most treasured, most wonderful corners of my life. Much love always-- Ellie

One of Aunt Barbara’s many visits to her Alaska family. 4 sisters and Mom—1993