Friday, November 9, 2007

Strange Eulogy for Aunt Louise

 
It has been a long time since I wrote, and much has happened. I have a new-to-me car, which I bought with great trepidation, a line of credit on my house and every red penny I could squeeze from everywhere, including my poor parents who (at 84 and 82) were in the middle of an excruciating move into senior housing.
 
But I now have a 2004 pearlized gray Honda Accord with only 35,000 miles on it. I expect it to last another 200,000 miles-well through my next road trip! If, of course, I can avoid totaling it, too. (This is a joke. I've totaled my car for this lifetime, and managed to walk away physically unharmed!
 
I have a lot more to write about the trip, and my struggles since I got back, but I have a more somber story to write about today. My Aunt Louise died yesterday. It was well past time, she was 84, nearly 85, and really never took good care of her health. She was the epitome of a spinster aunt, my mother's older sister. My grandparents, who kept her at home in their long lifetimes, referred to her as slow. My mother called her marginally retarded, and today we would probably say (being PC) that she was somewhat developmentally disabled.
 
What this has always meant to me is that she really had no life of her own, even after my grandparents died. She then moved into a small apartment complex near my parents, where my mother kept an eye on her, and my father took over her finances (a subject she resented for the next 40 years). Once a year she vacationed alone at the Jersey Shore in some boarding house, where she made her only real friend -Priscilla who lived there on a good deal of money. They wrote letters back and forth, and visited once a year.
 
Two years after my parents moved from the Main Line of Philadelphia to Denver, she admitted that she could not live completely alone, and my parents moved her out to near-but not too near- them. At some point she converted to Mormonism-something my mother could not tolerate-so she did have "visitors" once a month-volunteers who brought pamphlets to the elderly and "sheltered" and stayed for a strict half an hour.
 
And my poor mother struggled all her life with guilt around her sister. My grandmother pushed Louise off on mom as much as possible, then compared mom badly to the neurotically neat Louise at every opportunity. Mom grew up massively conflicted and guilty about her sister, a situation that lasted over 80 years. They met for lunch regularly, she spent holidays with them.
 
Every time I visited, I made time to visit her for an everlasting "tea." Each time, I admired her extensive stuffed animal collecting, her small but spotless apartment, and listened gently to her repeat herself over and over, talking about her endless sicknesses, colds, the flu, high BP, ER visits (usually timed when my mother was away, so my brother Luke and his wife Mary would have to cope) and most though most hospital visits ended up with testing which showed nothing much really wrong with her, she share her worries with me.at great lengths, And, boy, did she worry about her health, and shared that worry with anyone she saw, especially my poor mother. I would gently remind my mother that she had little else in her life besides her hypochondria, but it was difficult to listen to, time after time. 
 
And her timing was a family joke; when my mother was diagnosed with bowel cancer, and Louise went to the ER with stomach cramps, which she was sure was cancer. Thousands of dollars of tests later, which she had to pay out of her very small trust fund, she was diagnosed with indigestion. But her letters to my mother (stuck in the Poconos with surgery, chemo and radiation) never acknowledged mom's illness, just went on endlessly about her own health.
 
Poor woman, she was lonely, completely self absorbed, and though I adored her as a small child, by the age of twelve, I had outgrown  her. Today she would live happily in a group home, and enjoy a job as a file clerk. She was unlucky enough to be born in a time and social strata which kept handicapped family members at home, though , luckily, my grandparents did not try to keep her hidden away. Just home, and not very busy.
 
I do have good memories of her, though, that keep me crying on and off. Her enjoyment of her one glass of sherry at daily cocktail time at my grandparents. And her sly pleasure of drinking a glass occasionally even after she had converted to Mormonism. She even offered me some at my last visit for tea in April, and we indulger in a thimbleful each, along with our Earl Gray.
 
I also remember her pleasure of piano playing-competent at best, but good enough for Sunday School children in the local Mormon church. (And the Mormons were much better to her than the Episcopalians ever were). She loved her season tickets to the Philadelphia Orchestra, and once, when my grandmother was talking about how shockingly shaggy the conductor's hair was, she confided in me, sotto voice, that she loved Leonard Bernstein's long hair, especially when it flopped into his eyes and he jerked his head to move it away. It was sort of sexy, wasn't it? I grinned and nodded, a moment in time shared secretly between aunt and niece.
 
It was the only time I ever heard "sexy" pass her lips, for she was the old fashioned epitome of a spinster aunt. Never dated, never had a man interested in her, live alone, both with my grandparents, and for the 40 years after they died. She enjoyed her TV programs, her neat apartments, her stuffed animals, and her food, as she grew stouter and stouter as the years progressed, happily going out to lunch with anyone who asked, who would pick her up and take her.
 
She also loved her sicknesses, her hospitalizations, because of the attention they brought her-sad but real-and, in her own limited way, my mother and her two nieces and her nephew. And we loved her, too, more at sometimes, less at others, each of us in our own way, for our own reasons. I am glad she died quickly, with my parents and Luke and Mary by her side, and I hope that where ever she goes now, she will have a happier, less lonely and more fulfilled life.
 
Good bye, Aunt Louise, I will miss the forbidden thimbleful of sherry at tea with you.
 
Blessings, Margo
 
 

17 comments:

makemarc said...

I can't help thinking of the Beatles' "Eleanor Rigby."  All the lonely people. It's indeed poignant when an entire life can be summed up in a eulogy--and not evoked, but summed up. Better luck next life, Aunt Louise.  

ksquester said...

A beautifully written account of your Aunt.  Makes me understand mine better.  Anne

stetsonsfyre said...

May your Aunt find her true place in the Summerland Margo  <liftin' a thimble of sherry also in regards to your Aunt>  I'm sorry for your loss... Blessings, Teresa

lisa41076 said...

Awwwww Margo sorry about the passing of your Aunt, glad you have some good memories of her, Love and Hugs Lisa XO

toonguykc said...

I never met your aunt, but I almost feel like I have after reading this Eulogy.

Enjoy many, many trouble-free miles and adventures in your new car!

Russ

gazker said...

There is a lot of death around at the moment. It's so weird, I wonder if it's because winter is settling in? I will Keep warm thoughts for you and your family at this time.
Gaz xxx

dbaumgartner said...

Wow, to never have met your Aunt, I feel as if I know her.  What a lovely post, such an intimate peek into your family.

Hugs my dear, sweet friend!

Deb

judithheartsong said...

Dear Margo,

What a beautiful post. I wonder what adventures your aunt might be on to now, I am glad you have some good memories to hold onto.

hugs,

judi

freeepeace said...

Beautifully expressed. Amazing the things we remember, what we hold on to and what we release.  

Congratulations on your new purchase.  Safe travels!  :)

tellsg said...

God bless her, she certainly sounds a character and what a long life she was lucky enough to have.  I find special needs folk are selfish at times but perhaps its because they haven't the brain power to think of anyone else but their own self and needs.  My boy has special needs and I think that part of it is that the caring for others part of their nature is not fully developed.  I am glad you have got a new car and I wish you many years of happy and safe motoring.  Hugs, Tells x

rdautumnsage said...

What a heart rendering tribute to your Aunt Louise. I'm sorry to hear of her passing, she sounds almost like my great grandmother. (Hugs) Indigo

ljat1 said...

Congrats on the new car!  What a sweet tribute to your aunt.  It's wonderful that she always had family members around to "keep an eye" on her!  I hope you've had a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday.  Blessings to you.  Linda  

floralilia said...

hi margo!  thanks for stopping by -

many good wishes for a bright holiday and a new year filled with unexpected delights -

~flora

lisa41076 said...

Margo, I am missing you big -time tonight.It always seems like when you are away something makes me sad when you are gone, not your fault of course, hurry home ok ,   I hope you had a good Christmas, Love You Lisa XOXO

stetsonsfyre said...

just checking in with you, haven't heard from you in what seems like ages... hope everything is alright.  Let us know ok?  Bright Blessings and Love, Teresa

ksquester said...

Ok, where the hell are you?    Anne

lisa41076 said...

I second that comment from Anne, where the hell are you ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? Love and Miss you Lisa