WHO DIED AND MADE YOU QUEEN?

To be honest, I have been pondering this for several years but talking myself out of it the entire time. From the moment it was made plain to me at my brother’s funeral, I have pushed the thought aside. I vividly remember walking down the sidewalk with one of his friends after the service and he turned to me and stated quite matter of fact, “You know this makes you the matriarch of the family”.  Thinking to myself that it was such a funny little statement, I tucked it away for another day.

I surely didn’t ask for it, nor would I have chosen it. But fate dropped it squarely in my lap and slowly time has convinced me it’s true -- I am the Matriarch of the Kirk Family. And as funny as it looks typing it, it sounds just as silly in my head. But just to be sure I met the criteria, I verified the definition on the Internet as everything you read on the Google search is unquestionably true! Evaluating several different explanations, I concluded that a matriarch is indeed the oldest female head of the family; an older woman who is powerful within a family. But  in my case, only half the definition is true as I am still not willing to admit I am getting old. But you get the idea. A matriarch is a female version of the Godfather ie.  Elizabeth, Queen of England. Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy. Carol Brady. Marge Simpson.

For years I’ve had a fascination with royalty and love reading historical fiction about kings and queens of England, along with all the accompanying pomp and circumstance. Castles and princes and crowns, OH MY! But I am also intrigued with American royalty, specifically the couple from Camelot, Jack and Jackie. Who couldn’t love the Kennedys and all the glam associated with their fascinating and handsome family. As a little girl, I remember looking at snapshots of Caroline and was completely convinced she was a storybook  princess. With her perfectly side-swept bang held tightly in place with a large bow and those cute little freckles, it made me wish I was her. Magazines, TV documentaries, and books all romanticize the Kennedy family along with their lifestyle but clearly there was one who was the head of their clan — Rose.

I envision her sitting on a stately chair in the Kennedy mansion, wearing the family ring as might a queen or pope, directing all the inner workings of the family -- holiday and vacation gatherings on their Martha's Vineyard compound,  menus for galas, proper schools her grandchildren would attend along with the choicest marriage prospects for all. Without question, her children would come to her for advice about anything and everything. She was the I-Ching of the brood and not an engagement was announced unless Grandmother Rose gave her nod of approval. And while every female baby would be christened a good Irish Catholic name of their parent's choosing, all would be expected to receive the middle name Rose. So much influence she seemed to have, but having one foot in the grave and  a hundred million bucks sitting in her bank account may have given the minions some incentive.

In contrast, as the prevailing Kirk Matriarch I feel a bit sub-par and concede that as I've yet to hit the lottery  all I’ve got going for me is The Ring and hoped that just as the Ruby Red Slippers, the power came when I put it on. But to date, despite wearing The Ring, no one had yet to ask me if their future spouse was suitable for them, so I simply tucked a check into the wedding card and wished them the best of luck. Similarly, any sound wisdom or advice I would impart to all the new, young parents in the family such as feeding rice cereal before 4 months so that the baby sleeps, using warm blankets in the crib so that the baby sleeps, or avoiding the flat-head syndrome sleeping positions by putting the baby on their stomach so that the baby sleeps, would border on a death-wish from the Old Crone so it’s best I leave it to them to make their own parenting blunders. When all else fails, I know that sleep deprivation has a way of bringing Dr. Spock back from the dead.

As for the stately heirloom chair bequeathed to me by my grandparents, I gifted it to my daughter who having not a traditional bone in her body recovered it in fabric, that through no fault of her own, now resembles stylish, yet futuristic  mid-century spider webs. But that’s another anecdote for a different day.

Quite frankly, for the past several years I’ve indisputably fumbled my duties. Sound matriarchal advice was given by me that resembled nothing more than clanging brass to tone deaf ears. Although in all fairness to myself, is there anyone under 40 who thinks  the old folks know anything? Or maybe I just needed the ancestral chair so that my point of view may have sounded more consequential while  sitting on it.   But with mixed nostalgia I remember having gifted it away and it no longer resides with me. Finally, I have yet to persuade even one parent to name their offspring after me.

Seven new babies have been welcomed into our family over the past several years and yet not one Christianna!  We have a Henry, Grant and Gabriel along with a Mila, Charlotte, Maeve, Audrey and Reece and two on the way!   But this Grande Dame is still holding out hope her namesake will arrive one day.  And if, like me, she ends up becoming the Kirk Matriarch, I know exactly what she will need-- just The Ring and The Chair, because she will already have been given a great name fit for a Queen Bee!