March the 9th

For centuries, the month of March has come in like a lion with a familiar warning: "Beware the Ides of March."

For most people, that's the 15th of March, or the middle of the month. It's most famous for being the day that Roman Emperor Julius Caesar was assassinated millenniums ago and marked a millennia later by William Shakespeare.

But in my family, for as long as I can remember, we've all been warned to "Beware March the 9th."

For some reason, it's just a baaaaaaaaad luck day in our clan. Over the years we've all learned to beware and don't travel or schedule elective procedures.

Still, there have been accidents. There have been miscarriages. Two of my great-grandmothers died on March the 9th. 

Coming the day after my birthday, many of my March the 9ths have been spent in bed anyway because I drank too much the day before -- my birthday. 

Of course, most people are skeptical about this day of misfortune, no matter how we try to explain it. When I was in college and dating a lovely boy named Shawn, we spent a whole day with his best friend and mine, just goofing around New Orleans. Every time I moved, they teased me. "Watch out! It's March the 9th."

We laughed and laughed.

When I got home, there was a message on my answering machine (it was the 80s, y'all). My stepfather had had a heart attack and was in the hospital.

Years later, my best friend since eighth grade, Janine, lost her father on March the 9th.

So, my nephew Lee was a little taken aback when I scheduled a memorial service for my late sister, Jo Lee Ann Delanuville Lyons Saunier Miller Catton LeBlanc, on Sunday, March the 9th, 2025. The day after my 63rd birthday.  But, I figured, why the hell not?

My sister never got a funeral. She died on Dec. 11, 2022 in a nursing facility north of Baton Rouge after a year-long fight with an infection following hip surgery. Her husband, already in ill health, took her loss hard. We kept saying we were going to get together to disperse her ashes into the Mississippi River the same way we did my Mama's, but Nick never was well enough. When he died in late 2024, his family had a graveside funeral for him and put his ashes in a military cemetery. They just kind of stuck Jo Lee's in there too. None of our family went. They barely mentioned her name.

But a few months ago when I went to claim a few family treasures from their house, Nick's daughter gave me a small vial of my sister's remains. At least we had something to say goodbye our own way.

So I put together a table of vittles and an ice chest of drinks, made a photo collage of some of her most dweeby pictures over the years, and invited family and friends to join us. We shared finger sandwiches, veggies, cheese and crackers, and our memories for a while before moseying on down to the Bonnet Carre Spillway where there is a boat launch.

Just as the sun began to set, my husband Marty read a lovely prayer he had put together. We shared a few words, some tears, and put her and a dozen roses into the murky Mississippi. Meanwhile, a boat full of fishermen circled a few yards offshore, waiting for us to finish. We didn't take long.

 Maybe she's with Mama and our brother, Rhett. Hopefully she's with Grannnie and Grandpa, Nick, and every pet she ever loved. I hope she is finally at rest and at peace.