today is my father's birthday.

it is also a day full of visiting hours for his cousin, carolyn, who learned literally three weeks ago that she had leukemia. she started chemotherapy immediately, had heart failure, and was in a drug-induced coma for a few days before she lost the fight. if she was fighting.

happy birthday, dad.

carolyn was the daughter of wilma, my father's aunt and my great aunt. wilma's husband george passed away many years ago, and carolyn was the only daughter (of two) that stayed in the area -- stayed at home, in fact. i don't think i ever saw one of them without the other. wilma collected angels and elyria postcards; carolyn collected mickey mouse paraphenalia. they went out to eat a lot. they drove miles and miles to go to places like flea markets, antique shows, and random things like, well, postcard events. for the past few years, my aunt nadine has referred to them as "the crate ladies," a derogatory term (spoken with a steady but non-vicious annoyance) that i can't remember the seeds of. they loved to criticize whatever pastor was leading st. john lutheran church at the time, especially at holidays, and especially this last pastor -- who is actually in the process of leaving the church, but may be officiating for the funeral tomorrow, i'm not sure. most times, they made everyone really uncomfortable with their bitching, and my mother would, with a complete lack of grace and obvious annoyance, attempt to change the subject.

wilma and carolyn were always calling my dad to get him to come fix their toilet, or their gutters, or their microwave, or their dryer. occasionally, they would call someone else, or call us to avoid calling someone else, and everyone would start wondering why they were pissed off at who.

and wilma and carolyn, i am sure, were known as "the crazy ladies on lafayette" to the elyria police department. not a week went by that they didn't notice movement outside a window, see a light in their backyard, hear a burglar breaking in while they lay wide-eyed in their beds... and then shared their near-death experiences with us around the next family gathering, declamatory and bug-eyed and convinced that the world was out to get them.

wilma made infamously bad christmas cookies as i was growing up -- each family took home a paper plate full of the garishly colored sweets, laid carefully inside a freezer bag, after the annual gathering. we knew the two of them spent hours-upon-hours in their kitchen, baking up the foul goodness, but no one could bring themselves to pick away at the plates. after a couple weeks on each family's counter, they were dumped in the trash.

i never saw wilma and carolyn give a gift that wasn't in a gift bag, accessorized with the most useless and/or gaudy extras thrown in. my sister and i always eye-rolled over the assortment we'd pull out of those bags (bags which my mother hoardes in the basement and reuses; i don't think she's ever bought a gift bag herself): brooches in the shape of our initials adorned with birthstones; pencils and pens; cubic zirconia angel pendants; the odd book that dealt vaguely with an interest you may or may not have had when you were five years old. there was usually cash in the card, especially when we were younger. usually these bags came when they visited, but often they would send a bag home with my mother from church, instructing her to pass it on to the recipient. the only time gifts didn't come in a bag was when wilma and carolyn sent a card in the mail -- adorned simply with their names in wilma's flowing script, and always with money -- for the times they knew they wouldn't see us.

carolyn was a schoolteacher and her mother's chauffeur and companion. i don't think she ever dated; i am fairly certain she never had intercourse with a man. she was fifty-seven.

wilma has been in the hospital many times, especially recently, and reminds us constantly (again, usually at the holidays... they were endless doom-and-gloom entertainment, to be sure) that she "only has half a stomach!" and needed to use the bathroom regularly. carolyn was always escorting her out of her chair and into the powder room, which inevitably smelled like old lady caked in "chantilly" for the next twenty minutes.

we were all certain wilma would go first, and i have to admit that i was (maybe morosely) interested in what new and exciting ways her being absent would affect carolyn's life. with the end of "wilma and carolyn," though, i don't think the elder has much up her sleeve.