Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day 21

Thursday, July 12^th

based on a conversation with my Aunt Roberta

Third Time Around

               

They met at the small Baptist church in Fairacres. Both just lost their spouses. She lost her husband of 40+ years to cancer. He spent the last 10 years caring for his wife who had developed Alzheimer’s. They had both been married before that. Both had grown children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren even. He also had step-children. Between the two of them there were eight children, all grown, the youngest in her late thirties. She was nearly eighty-years old. He was already past that by a couple of years. He made her feel beautiful. She made him feel young. The rumors flew around the family; rumors of a new boyfriend, of a new girlfriend, rumors of love that brought them both happiness and security. They were cute together. Her children embraced him and called him Dad. His lived out of the area but gave him their blessings. The wedding was three months later.

They made plans to travel. She owned an RV and they were both excited. They moved the bulk of his stuff into her house and rented a storage room for the remainder. The home instantly became crowded; it looked as if she had been a hoarder. One room was impassible. The garage had a small winding path from the door to the washing machine and dryer but there was no walking through the remaining space that was floor to ceiling with boxes and bags and things. He intended to sell some of his things on Ebay. She tried to sell her very old Avon on Ebay but there wasn’t even a nibble. If the little things won’t sell on Ebay, there is no way the big items will sell, she thought. Craigslist is the way to go he decided. But before he could place the first Craigslist ad he suffered a massive heart attack. He went into the hospital, the team determined that his heart was severely damaged and they used a pacemaker/defibulator to keep his heart functioning. He was placed on oxygen. But he survived it. Three months after they had married, they made their first trip to visit his children. It was a long exhausting drive and they both knew that they wouldn’t be able to travel in the RV again. Christmas came and went and they remained happy together.

Two months later he returned to the hospital, pneumonia. He was weakened because of the heart condition. She fell and broke her hip. He asked to remain in the hospital for an extra week while she was in the hospital recovering from the hip replacement. He needed to; he wasn’t ready to go home, especially when there would be no one at home with him. They left the hospital together. Three weeks later, after a particularly difficult phone call from his youngest daughter, he suffered another massive heart attack. There was no saving him this time. She attended his funeral using her walker, her children by her side and his children, those that were able to make it, supporting her from a distance.

Four months later I sat in her living room. I asked her if she knew he had a weak heart when she met him. She did. She is, after all, a nurse. Her eyes filled with tears. I really loved him, she told me. I knew that. My Uncle, her second husband, scared her, she was never really happy while married to him. And while I had only met her latest husband briefly, at the surprise 75^th birthday party for my own father, she smiled more that day than I ever remembered her smiling while married to my Uncle. She glowed. Now, while she still seemed strong, there was brokenness. She blames his youngest daughter who seemed always to bring stress into his life. But she also realizes that is unrealistic. He was already damaged before she came into his life. The stress he undertook caring for his previous wife was too much for his heart to bear. It was a matter of time and she knew that when they met. His heart was a ticking time bomb and while she knew that it would eventually explode, she had hoped for more time with him.

For now, she continues to work in the hospital. She has finally been cleared to return to the floor, her hip finally strong enough to endure twelve hour shifts caring for patients on the floor. She just turned eighty. She walks through the house, pointing out things that she needs to get rid of, unsure of how to go about it. A ghost, I think, wandering the rooms of her castle. Maybe I should sell this place, she wonders out loud. No, you’ve been here for more than forty-five years. You’ve laid down roots for your kids and grandkids. I am reminiscent as I follow her around the home. This room I shared with my favourite cousin on Saturday nights so I could attend church with them. This room housed my Uncle’s mother in her last years of life. The garage we held a séance in. And the backyard, unchanged over the years, in which my cousins and I played with the four puppies. The memories gave me a sense of security, of home. My own family had move three times, my own grandparents sold their family home and moved into a trailer. This was the only home from my childhood that still is as it was. It was familiar, even in the hoarded crowdedness. She then said that her kids and grandkids seldom come around any longer. I looked at her, truly looked at her. My Aunt, the oldest sister of my father who looked remarkably like my Grandmother, looked rueful and I felt so saddened. At eighty, I think, her kids should be visiting her at her home. Her kids should be bringing the grandkids and great-grandkids around to the house. Do they make her go to them? I wished, right at that moment, that I didn’t live 2,400 miles away from here. At eighty, my Aunt needed to be cared for and nurtured. She had hoped for that when she married just 14 months ago. I hope she finds that again. We are communal creatures, created to be with others. I hope that my Aunt doesn’t become reclusive and lost in this sea of stuff that surrounds her. I hope that she finds another to spend her days with, and maybe even her nights. At eighty who has the right to condemn her for that?