The memories are jumbled, and I am afraid, fading. I know I was twelve. I remember many months after her passing being startled awake from a deep sleep and having an overwhelming feeling of loss. I ran out to the living room, where, luckily, my parents were still awake. “Sheila?” my mom asked concerned, “What’s wrong, honey?” I ran over to her on the couch and kneeled and lunged for her all in a rush. As soon as my arms encircled her chest, the tears came in a tidal wave. “She’s gone!” I burst out. “Who?” my Mom asked puzzled.
“Aunt Jean!” I squealed, exasperated that she didn’t seem to immediately know. “Oh, honey, Aunt Jean died months ago,” my Mom explained gently, like this was information I didn’t already have. “I KNOW!” I said, unable to hide my anger at her for treating my pain like it was ignorance instead. “But, I’m never going to see her again! I want to see her again!” While my delayed mourning has proven to be a personal trait that seems to follow almost all losses I have experienced in life, Aunt Jean was my first. Of course, I was a child and am sure I did not fully understand how special our relationship was at the time. At least, not until that moment months after her death. But, now I look back and realize what an important influence she was in my life both then and on what I became as an adult. See, Aunt Jean was not really my Aunt; she was my great Aunt. As my mother’s Aunt, she actually grew up in her house. As the deaf sister of my grandmother, she never lived on her own. But, I believe that was more because others around her felt it wasn’t safe for her to do so, I am not so sure she ever fully agreed with that assessment. As such, she had a full life. I know she worked, but I could not tell you doing what. But, she made enough to contribute to the house finances, even during really bad times, as my mother’s family was quite poor when she was a child. While her hearing loss would not allow for her to have a driver’s license, she had a bus pass. She was comfortable traveling all over Rochester, New York via its elaborate bus system. I don’t remember her necessarily being a domestic goddess. For instance I struggle to remember her cooking at all. I did see her vacuum a few times, usually with my grandmother complaining that she always decided to do it when she was on the phone. A fact that my Aunt would not have realized was a problem. But, she definitely taught me to sew. Not large patterns or anything like that. But, if something got ripped or a button fell off, she is the one that taught me how to fix it. Her and my grandmother definitely came from the generation that knew how to get the maximum life out of everything. So, darning socks, taking down hems on pants, patching a hole in the knees of pants, were all skills they more than specialized in. Of the three children that my mother had, I like to think I was Aunt Jean’s favorite. I was definitely the one who had the most patience with her. She was raised during a time and in a socio-economic environment where losing your hearing was not something that was going to be supported with lots of sympathy and special attention. She was never sent to a special school. In fact, I am not sure how many years of schooling she actually received. Neither she nor those around her ever considered learning sign language. She read lips, and she could speak her answers back to you. A fact that confused me, until my mother explained that she did not lose her hearing until she was old enough to have already learned to talk. I never got the full story of how she lost her hearing. I have some impressions that she got sick at some point and it affected her hearing. I also have some belief that it was slow and degenerative. In other words, her hearing loss took place over some length of time. But, again, I never remember getting any details on what caused it or how long she lived with the fact that she was losing her hearing. Because of course, as a child these details would not be important to me. What was important to me was how she made me feel. How she was the only adult that when I spoke she really looked at me and was interested in what I had to say. Yes, I know that was because she needed to read my lips, but at the time - as a child - I just felt really seen for the first time in my life. I loved the way we would tease each other. Like when she asked me to go fetch her something. I would go where she told me to look for it, not find it and return empty handed. She would then get up, go right where she said it was and pick it up. As the years went on, I would spend so much time looking for whatever she’d asked me to get, still not find it, and then get even more teased about how long it took me to find nothing. It became a running joke about her being deaf and me being blind. She introduced me to SEEs Candies. Every December, she would take my sister, brother and I on the bus to drive to the mall in downtown Rochester. The mall always went all out for Christmas, and it was fun for us to see the decorations, the train on the tracks that ran the full length of the mall and, of course, Santa. And after all our sight seeing, we ended the day with a “sucker” at SEES. If you have never had one, I highly recommend it. They are not your standard lollipops. I remember simple pleasures like playing cards, reading next to each other on the couch, watching Wheel of Fortune on t.v., because she could follow that show along without sound. While my sister and brother would run around outside or want to watch sitcoms on t.v., I remember staying glued to Aunt Jean. She made me feel safe and loved. And, I think too, as someone who was growing up with my own physical restrictions, I liked that we made each other feel less alone. When I was about eleven, we got the call that she was sick. She had pancreatic cancer. We were all devastated. On a visit to their house, my grandmother offered to take me to the hospital to visit her. When we got there, I was relieved to see my Aunt get out of bed and smile at me the way she always had. I went to her and gave her a big hug. And, this, this I will never forget. My grandmother whispered in my ear as I was hugging her, “Do you feel how skinny she is? You can feel her rib bones.” I was so mad at her for that. And, to this day still am. With those two sentences, she took away from that moment in more than one way. She spoke to me when she knew my Aunt Jean would not be aware of her talking. So, it felt like she was talking behind her back, which is something that had happened at times when I was growing up, and I always hated being a part of. She also made me concentrate on how frail her body was and how I was losing her instead of the fact that she was giving me the best hug. And, all these years later, that is what I fight for in my fading memories: never to forget how she made me feel and to never forget how good she hugged.
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AuthorA former corporate online marketing and communications professional, in 2021 Long Covid redirected me. I am revisiting my passion for writing. You are the unfortunate witness to that journey. Categories
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April 2024
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