My cousin called an hour ago. I knew when I answered the phone why she called. Her mom, my mother's youngest sister, has been in a nursing home for the past five years or so with Alzheimer's they think. Anyway. She died today. She was seventy-six, the youngest of seven children. Her oldest brother and sister are the only ones left now, and they are well into their eighties.
My cousin has been grieving for her mom since long before she entered the nursing home. My aunt's husband made the decision to put her in a home two states and five hours away, back where she grew up. My cousin would rather have been with her, but what could she do? She was not the primary caregiver.
I know my cousin has hurt over the years, in part because her siblings had limited contact with my aunt. One of them even lives in the town where her nursing home is. My cousin did not understand why they didn't have the same need to see her, to brush her hair, to make sure the doctor was doing all he could for her.
My cousin does not feel that my aunt would have wanted a viewing. She and my aunt had discussions about that back when my aunt could discuss such things. She is frustrated now because her siblings want and will have one, and I admire her mature stance; they have to do what they have to do. She was there when my aunt was alive and it counted.
She talked about going through my aunt's things and finding her autograph book. My mother's signature is in there. So is their brother Johnny's who left this earth before any of his sisters. His was a gentle spirit as I remember. She talked about something my aunt wrote, about growing up during WWII and coming to Washington, DC. About seeing Clark Gable in the flesh. About the way things were. I am glad she can see such things and remember the person her mom was. Aunt Pat will be alive as long as my cousin remembers her that way.
I did not know my aunt well, in part because of the physical distance between us, but I do know this: she was there. She cared about my mother when my mother was ill, and she was the only one of her siblings that visited her. While she was alive. When it mattered.
I wish there were some magic words I could say to make things better for my cousin, but since I have lost my own mother, I know that there are none. When you love someone, you miss them when they are no longer there. She has been missing her mom for a long time now. I guess this just put a period on the end of it. She doesn't have to visit the nursing home. She will remember my aunt as she drives down the road where they both lived for a while. As she remembers things they did together. As she touches her mother's picture. I know it will be hard for her, but my cousin did what she could while her mom was alive.
She was there.
***In loving memory of Patricia Nuzum Prentice 7/14/1928-2/7/2005*************
My cousin has been grieving for her mom since long before she entered the nursing home. My aunt's husband made the decision to put her in a home two states and five hours away, back where she grew up. My cousin would rather have been with her, but what could she do? She was not the primary caregiver.
I know my cousin has hurt over the years, in part because her siblings had limited contact with my aunt. One of them even lives in the town where her nursing home is. My cousin did not understand why they didn't have the same need to see her, to brush her hair, to make sure the doctor was doing all he could for her.
My cousin does not feel that my aunt would have wanted a viewing. She and my aunt had discussions about that back when my aunt could discuss such things. She is frustrated now because her siblings want and will have one, and I admire her mature stance; they have to do what they have to do. She was there when my aunt was alive and it counted.
She talked about going through my aunt's things and finding her autograph book. My mother's signature is in there. So is their brother Johnny's who left this earth before any of his sisters. His was a gentle spirit as I remember. She talked about something my aunt wrote, about growing up during WWII and coming to Washington, DC. About seeing Clark Gable in the flesh. About the way things were. I am glad she can see such things and remember the person her mom was. Aunt Pat will be alive as long as my cousin remembers her that way.
I did not know my aunt well, in part because of the physical distance between us, but I do know this: she was there. She cared about my mother when my mother was ill, and she was the only one of her siblings that visited her. While she was alive. When it mattered.
I wish there were some magic words I could say to make things better for my cousin, but since I have lost my own mother, I know that there are none. When you love someone, you miss them when they are no longer there. She has been missing her mom for a long time now. I guess this just put a period on the end of it. She doesn't have to visit the nursing home. She will remember my aunt as she drives down the road where they both lived for a while. As she remembers things they did together. As she touches her mother's picture. I know it will be hard for her, but my cousin did what she could while her mom was alive.
She was there.
***In loving memory of Patricia Nuzum Prentice 7/14/1928-2/7/2005*************
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