Aunt Joan
My Aunt Joan died last weekend. Although her death wasn’t a surprise, her absence has left a hole.
In recent years, our togetherness centered on my annual trips back to Omaha, weekly family Zoom calls, and card exchanges. But for the thirty years before that, Joan and I both called Omaha our home. Although other family members came and went, Joan and I were always there. Transplants from Iowa, we were family, just a call or drive away from the other.
Third in the birth order of Elmer and Marvel Pick’s nine children, Joan never married. She spent her career as a registered nurse and with most of these years in Omaha. Like Joan, I was born and raised in Remsen, Iowa, and also spent most of my adult years in Omaha.
Growing up, I saw Aunt Joan as my fun and sweet aunt. She had no children but always had one or two dogs as her constant companions. Joan’s visits to Iowa were occasions I looked forward to. When she returned to Omaha, she and I would exchange letters and cards throughout the year. Although close, I was equally close to all of my aunts and uncles as a child.
It was when I moved to Omaha in 1989 that our stories began intertwining. Over the next thirty years, these years were filled with joyful shared memories.
Graduating from college in May 1989, I moved out of my Iowa dorm room and took the interstate straight south to Omaha, Nebraska. I left Iowa behind to follow my boyfriend, Scott Lane, to his home state. Moving away from my family roots, Scott’s Nebraska family took me in as one of their own. The Lanes quickly took Joan in as well.
With the 1990s came my marriage to Scott and the birth of our oldest sons, Zach and Ben. Joan was still working full-time but was a constant figure at our home. She showered the boys with toys and especially loved buying them Beanie Babies. She spent hours hitting McDonald’s drive-thrus to acquire the latest mini Beanie sensation to gift to her many nieces and nephews.
My fun and quirky favorite aunt quickly became my young boys' favorite. She loved them, and they equally loved her and her dogs.
Joan and I would coordinate schedules to plan visits back to Iowa. When relatives visited Omaha, we planned outings at our homes and dinners together. The 90s were the years of Iowa holidays, and Joan was still healthy and active.
My youngest son, Grant, was born in 2000. This was also the year that my grandparents, Joan’s parents, passed away. Through the 2000s, Joan’s siblings started moving across the country. This was when Joan’s health started deteriorating.
Now, instead of attending gatherings in Iowa, Joan was a part of our family celebrations in Omaha. Pulling up in her signature PT Cruiser, she was welcomed by our neighbors and Scott’s family for holidays, birthday parties, first communions, and piano recitals.
With a love for QVC and always owning a motorized easy chair, Joan’s home was a playground for the boys when we visited. It was full of dogs and many unopened boxed treasures found in Joanie’s closets. With any family gathering on Scott’s side of the family, it was a given that Joan was invited as one of their large family.
The late 2000s brought a life change for me. Newly divorced, I was alone every other weekend when the boys were with their dad. Joan filled this void by visiting me on those weekends. We would cook and spend time together, sharing many laughs. Joan never visited my house without filling our house with music by playing our family piano. Piano Story
Always close to Scott and the Lanes, Joane gave us all the grace of never taking sides. She remained close to Scott and his family post-divorce.
By 2010, I had been traveling back and forth to Denver, dating my now-husband Garrett. He lived in Denver with his kids. I remained in Omaha with mine. Until Grant’s 2018 high school graduation, Garrett and I spent much of these years in airports and navigating two cities. Joan didn’t hesitate to help out with my dog, Harry, who was aging and required twice daily insulin shots. No longer having a dog of her own, she loved Harry. Although she had her own health issues, she always showed up.
On the many weekends that Garrett and I were apart, Joan remained my companion. We started enjoying dine-in movie theaters and eating out, where dessert was almost always ordered. She shared her love of tarot cards and spirit animals, telling me of her beliefs in reincarnation and the need for meditation as medication. Any special bird or animal sighting was a sign that Joan was well-equipped to interpret.
In 2019, I moved out of Nebraska. For the first time in 30 years, Joan and I lived apart. We returned to our primary communication of exchanging cards. Texts were frequent, although Joan sometimes took a day or so to respond. Her texts always included “Love you!” with many emojis.
My trips back to Omaha always included spending a day with Joan. This always included a movie and going out to dinner, with my prompting her to order extra for leftovers and dessert, of course. We would laugh like we were never apart. My last visit with Joan included a full-day outing that ended with a stop at the grocery store. We got the case of the giggles when she backed her motorized cart into a display of cans.
Like all of our goodbyes over the last few years, I squeezed Joan tightly, assuming it would be the last.
In 2021, I brought Joan to visit Scott’s parents at their assisted living. The three of them laughed and enjoyed each other’s company as they had since the late 80s. After dropping Joan off at home and heading to the airport, I cried, knowing that this would likely be the last time the three of them would be together. Scott’s dad passed away a few months later, and then his mom the next year. Joan was the last to join them.
Over the last few years, Joan’s health has declined. The pandemic did not deliver COVID-19 to Joan but instead gifted more family time. In 2020, Joan and her siblings began a weekly Sunday Zoom call that continues today. Joan would join the virtual meeting on her phone, even giving a recital on her piano during the last year. Alone in Omaha, this weekly communication was a blessing.
Joan only missed the Sunday call the week before she died. My next scheduled flight back to Omaha will be less than a week after her passing.
The thought of not picking up Joan for a movie date and dinner at The Outback leaves me feeling empty. But I know Joan was more concerned about living than dying. Dying Alone Story
As I ran along the river trail this morning through a grassy meadow, I looked for a sign of Joan. She strongly believed in life after death and in her reincarnation into an animal.
Looking closely at each bird I encountered, I regretted not remembering which kind Joan mentioned in our previous discussions.
But then again, that would take the mystique of it. In death, as in life, Joan would prefer for some things to be left up to the imagination.
Slideshow of Joan & my 30 years together in Omaha…
