Aunt Savannah

My aunt Savannah used to drive a black convertible all across town and classic rock was always blaring through its speakers. It was her “driving music” she told me. Although her music taste was certainly not limited to Queen. Every time I was with her she had a new band she would play for me to get my opinion. I never knew too much about music but she still insisted on knowing what I thought of her tunes. She was 20 years older than me but never once talked down to me. She always spoke to me as if we were equals, as if I was a proper adult. She wouldn’t even let me call her “Aunt,” she said it made her sound old. She was a friend, sister, role model, baby sitter, and aunt.

Savannah was easily the coolest person I knew growing up. The best part was she included me in a lot of the cool things she was into. She took me to my first concert, taught me how to drive, took me to the lake, and taught me the importance of joy.  Everything she did was cool- the way she dressed, the people she hung out with, the music she listened to, the things she talked about and how she talked about them. She did what made her happy, but one could never say she was selfish. For what she did made other people happy and that’s why she did them. I don’t remember a time when Savannah didn’t pay for someone else’s meal at lunch. She was always buying things for people and getting in touch with old friends.

There was only one habit Savannah had that bothered me. She loved to smoke- be it cigarettes, cigars, or pipes. She never smoked inside, but her house always smelt like smoke, the scent lingering on her clothes and in her car. At the time I didn’t like the smell, but now I will occasionally light a cigarette just to remember her. For her 35th birthday I convinced my mom to buy a 99 cent package of Swisher Sweets Strawberry cigars and I gave them to Savannah. Since then she was hooked and the burnt tobacco smell that occasionally drifted in her house turned into a smoky strawberry scent. Every year on the anniversary of her death I visit her grave stone and light a strawberry cigar in honor of her memory.

She was 54 when she was the victim of a drunk driving accident. She was on her way to Oklahoma- just her and her dog. Traveling was something she loved to do most. She was always planning a road trip, even it just be a small one outside of town. She didn’t care if she went with a huge group or just by herself. As long as she could get away for a couple days and see new things, she was happy. Any change in routine excited her. 

She had a lot of time on her hands to go traveling. She had never been in a serious relationship longer than six months for the time that I knew her. She had no need or want to start a family. I asked her once why she didn’t have a family of her own and she smiled, saying, “You and your brother are all the family I need.” She came close to marrying, just once. I was about five or six and she had been seeing this man named Sam. I really liked him. He taught me my first guitar chords, how to play tennis, and the difference between mainstream and underground music. They were planning on getting married when Sam moved out of town, without warning, to relocate his band for a wider audience. Savannah had tried to work things out with Sam, but she broke up with him a few weeks later. She was hurt, of course, but she had always been independent. She was able to move on with her life- not everything was revolved around Sam.

That was probably what I admired most about Savannah- her independence. She was always true to herself. Sometimes that self was outgoing, other times it was quiet. Sometimes she was the life of the party, and other times she stayed at home with her cat. She never tried to pretend that she was anything else other than herself. She didn’t need anyone either. She never relied on anyone or any relationship. She was simply herself.

It’s been five years since her death. My oldest son has faint memories of her but my two other children will never know who Savannah was. I know she would’ve invested just as much time in my children as she did me. I will never forget the woman who taught me the most valuable lessons- the lessons of independence, love, forgiveness, and joy. I have yet to let myself say goodbye to her. She’s in my thoughts always and sometimes, when I’m smoking a strawberry cigar at her grave stone, it’s almost as if she never left.