Auntie Helen

Let me begin by saying I’m not sad. I’m glad. My Aunt died at 6:15 AM on Tuesday morning. She was 84 years old. Again, I’m glad.

Auntie Helen, my dad’s sister, was the youngest in a family of 5 kids. Their parents, my grandparents, were immigrants in the early part of the 20th century. My dad and his siblings grew up on a subsistence farm that did not have electricity or indoor plumbing. Plain and simply, they were poor. They had a well, an outhouse, and a wood burning stove in the kitchen. My grandfather was a coal miner for part of his life. Still, the family had to rely in part on what they grew, caught or killed. They lived here, in western Washington, a couple hours from Seattle. Today, that seems remarkable to me yet I know it is so. Both of my parents and all of my aunts and uncles were ESL kids. My dad grew up speaking Polish at home and my mom spoke Italian. They learned English at school.

Auntie Helen had asthma. Her doctor recommended that she move to a drier climate when she was a young woman in hopes that it would ease the symptoms. Seeking respite from difficulty breathing, she lived in Denver, Colorado for decades.

Growing up I remember her coming to visit pretty much every other summer. She would stay for a week. We would hike and fish; those are very good memories for me. As a young woman Auntie Helen was a good downhill skier. She even raced competitively. She had a dry sense of humor. She enjoyed opera music.

Where does a life go? Where does health go? And in particular, where does basic sanity and mental stability go? I don’t know. I just don’t know.

Auntie Helen’s health has been deteriorating for the last several years. This past June her friend, Betty, found her on the floor one morning. Auntie Helen was disoriented and had to be hospitalized. She was there for two weeks. During her stay she had a PEG tube (a trans-abdominal feeding tube) inserted. This was the only way they could ensure that she was getting any nourishment.

The doctors also diagnosed her with moderately severe dementia. How does this happen? Where does a person’s mind go? I don’t know. I just don’t know.

The part of me that looks at problems and wants to fix them sometimes thinks I can “fix” anything. I get frustrated when I can’t. At times it is unreasonable or downright impossible for me to fix some things. I have trouble accepting that at sometimes. Even after all these years of experience of not being able to change something just because I want to, you would think I would be calmer about it. It still can make me angry.

I was angry that Auntie Helen was suffering. There was little to nothing I could do about it.

I’m not angry she died and I’m not sad. I’m glad. My belief is that there is another life and that she is happy now. Very happy.

When I struggle with things like this that I can’t change at all the only thing I know to do is follow Mother Teresa’s advice, “Begin in the place where you are.” To that end I resolve to be a good person, a good husband, a good father, a good friend, a good son and sibling. I don’t know what else to do. I just don’t know.

It is Friday. Tomorrow is the weekend. Please be good. Drive your cars carefully. Ride with people who drive carefully. Treat yourself with respect. Spend time with people who treat you with respect. Treat other people with respect. Talk nice to yourself; you deserve it. I look forward to hearing from you or seeing you. Keep yourself whole physically and emotionally.

I am glad.

CYLP.