My aunt Edythe died two weeks ago from complications related to Alzheimer's disease. She fought the battle for many years and her passing is a release to her and a relief to all who love her.
I saw a family picture made in 1942 of my mother, jaunty in her WAC uniform; older brother handsome in his pilot's uniform; youngest sister grinning from ear to ear as she still does; and their proud parents. Then there is Edythe, about eighteen or so, and she is absolutely gorgeous. She is smiling, but with her lips together, and she projects the serene beauty that would make her a model on Miami Beach. Edythe was always beautiful and elegant, but never in a snooty or aloof way. She had a great sense of humor, a laugh that was a delight to hear, and she loved me dearly.
Her life was not all beauty and elegance. She endured and was shaped by tragedy and hardship. Her brother, the pilot, was killed in World War II; her three-year-old son drowned in a swimming pool; and she and her first husband were divorced. Like all of us, she made mistakes, but she found forgiveness and a deeper meaning to life in God. When I knew her, she was happily married to her second husband Warren, who adored her. Edythe and Warren became world travelers and she brought back and gave to me small treasures that made me dream of distant places: a wall clock from Switzerland, a set of nesting dolls from Japan, kimonos in which my cousin Paul and I looked silly but my cousin Kay looked lovely, and a Carnaby Street mug from London.
I saw a different side of Edythe and certainty of my mother one Halloween when I was a little boy. They decided to dress up as witches. I vaguely remember going to the store with them to buy their costumes. They found black satin sheets for their robes, green food coloring to dye their faces and hands, stringy white mops for their hair, heavy black eyeliner for their eyes and mouth, black cone-shaped hats, and brooms to carry. They drove around Miami in Edythe's convertible with the top down, went to a couple of hotel lobbies, and played their roles absolutely straight with no smiling or posturing. They were two witches out on the town and how else should they behave?
My mother died of the same disease that killed Edythe, so my aunt's death hits close to home. It is hard to understand why these things happen. Just this week, my friend Karen wrote me of the difficult decision she made to place her dear husband on the Alzheimer's unit of a nursing facility. I close with her wise and hopeful words: "I know now, as do you, that we don't get to choose our road, but we do have to travel it. That is just the way it works. It isn't fair, but it is our path, and we can be resolute and make the best of it, and even discover strengths and blessings along the way. Obviously you, my husband, and I have chosen to embark on our separate journeys and make the best of them, knowing that we do not travel alone. So onward we go, looking for God's next wonder."
(This article appeared in Asheville (NC) Citizen-Times newspaper on 5 June 2011.)
I saw a family picture made in 1942 of my mother, jaunty in her WAC uniform; older brother handsome in his pilot's uniform; youngest sister grinning from ear to ear as she still does; and their proud parents. Then there is Edythe, about eighteen or so, and she is absolutely gorgeous. She is smiling, but with her lips together, and she projects the serene beauty that would make her a model on Miami Beach. Edythe was always beautiful and elegant, but never in a snooty or aloof way. She had a great sense of humor, a laugh that was a delight to hear, and she loved me dearly.
Her life was not all beauty and elegance. She endured and was shaped by tragedy and hardship. Her brother, the pilot, was killed in World War II; her three-year-old son drowned in a swimming pool; and she and her first husband were divorced. Like all of us, she made mistakes, but she found forgiveness and a deeper meaning to life in God. When I knew her, she was happily married to her second husband Warren, who adored her. Edythe and Warren became world travelers and she brought back and gave to me small treasures that made me dream of distant places: a wall clock from Switzerland, a set of nesting dolls from Japan, kimonos in which my cousin Paul and I looked silly but my cousin Kay looked lovely, and a Carnaby Street mug from London.
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| (L-R) My mother and aunt Edythe, 1962 |
My mother died of the same disease that killed Edythe, so my aunt's death hits close to home. It is hard to understand why these things happen. Just this week, my friend Karen wrote me of the difficult decision she made to place her dear husband on the Alzheimer's unit of a nursing facility. I close with her wise and hopeful words: "I know now, as do you, that we don't get to choose our road, but we do have to travel it. That is just the way it works. It isn't fair, but it is our path, and we can be resolute and make the best of it, and even discover strengths and blessings along the way. Obviously you, my husband, and I have chosen to embark on our separate journeys and make the best of them, knowing that we do not travel alone. So onward we go, looking for God's next wonder."
(This article appeared in Asheville (NC) Citizen-Times newspaper on 5 June 2011.)
I love the kimono part. Your sense of humor is marvelous !
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