My Aunt Betty — my mother’s oldest sister — died very early this morning. Her death was not at all unexpected; she’d had numerous health problems, and the past few weeks she’d been heading downhill in an unambiguous fashion. Just a few days ago, my mom told me she was expecting Aunt Betty’s death at any time. She knew Aunt Betty was ready to go, tired of suffering the effects of old age and disease.
From my mother:
Aunt Betty died early this morning. She went very peacefully and one of her favorite nurses was with her. I am including in this message an email sent to me from Lorraine (the granddaughter she just met this year) I hope you all get the chance to meet her some day, she is a very special person. I am at peace with the death, she suffered much too long. But I shall miss her terribly.
My memories of Aunt Betty are all from years ago, in the 50s and 60s, when I was growing up in central New Jersey on the family farm, and Aunt Betty and Uncle Bill lived in different places on the east coast. If I recall correctly, at one point they lived in Connecticut, and later (for sure) in northern New Jersey. Every once in a while — a few times a year, at most — my family would pile into our car and head to Aunt Betty’s house for a visit. These were fascinating experiences for me, for several reasons…
First, there were a bazillion cousins. I was never able to keep track of them all — it seemed like each visit or two there was a new one, and the oldest one was an adult when I was a small child. Every nook and cranny of their house held a cousin or two. Noise and chaos filled the house.
Then there was the beer and cigarettes in evidence (our house never had any alcohol, and my mom quit smoking in the late 50s).
And words we’d never heard before — and had no clue what they meant (except we were sure they were naughty) — were freely exchanged by even the little cousins.
And Aunt Betty…she was so disrespectful of my mom that I was quite taken aback on several occasions, and surprised at my mom’s laughing acceptance.
There were dark mutterings about “problems” with Uncle Bill, which as a child I never understood. Now I understand (without knowing most of the details) that their marriage was very troubled, and there was much unhappiness for Aunt Betty.
But in her later years, Aunt Betty’s children and grandchildren became her main source of happiness. While I did not witness this myself (as I live 2,500 miles away), for several years now I’ve been hearing stories from my mom about how Aunt Betty was being visited by her kids (and by my mom), and was having many happy experiences. For at least the past year or so, Aunt Betty’s been mostly (or entirely) in nursing homes or hospitals — but even that experience was often a good one, as she was fortunate to have caring and competent staff who took to her brash manners. And of course frequent visits from her family.
Then there was Lorraine (mentioned in my mom’s note). Lorraine is a grand-daughter that Aunt Betty had never met until late last year (for reasons that shall remain private, and are irrelevant to this story). Lorraine had never known her family, but went a-googling for information about it last year — and found my web site, with its genealogy information. She contacted me, I put her in touch with my mom, and late last year there was a happy reunion. Since that first meeting, Lorraine was able to visit my Aunt Betty and her children several times — to much joy and satisfaction on all sides.
From Lorraine, my aunt’s grand-daughter, to my mom:
[some private stuff excised]
I am so glad that I got to know Grandma and see her as often as I could this past 9 months or so. She was a wonderful and special person and I’m honored to have had the pleasure of meeting her, let alone be related to her.
When we lose people that we love, words are sometimes never appropriate. However, I always remember something that I read as a child and took to heart. “When a loved one becomes a memory, the memory becomes a treasure.” I’ve had so many other treasures in my life and now, one more perfect treasure to add to my own personal treasure chest. Each one is kept in my heart and is thought of often. Grandma will be sadly missed but never forgotten.
Please accept my condolences on Grandma’s passing as, to me, you are perhaps enduring the greatest loss. You have known her the longest and experienced the most with her; thus, having the greatest loss.
Please take care and rather than only feel the loss, also remember all the blessings.
Goodbye, Aunt Betty. I’ll remember you very fondly…
