My aunt seemed happy woman—5 kids, not much money—all the kids went to college, the two girls on basketball scholarships. She liked to travel, took family vacations to Europe, Alaska and around the US with her kids and grandkids up until a couple of years ago. Tough love kind of Mom, but always there when needed. Very private. So it’s possible she might have been ill, but not so that it was showing when she lay down for that nap. I will miss her. She was the last of my parents generation. The youngest one.
It’s very gracious of you to share this story. The idea of private jumps out. At hospice, there were people who waited for a favorite grandson to fly in from college and people who waited for everyone to go home in the evening.
I guess each of us has our own time frame. Your sister is fortunate that you are allowing her - hers. When my husband died - I wasn't there - strict COVID restrictions were in place at the memory care facility where he lived. As I spoke to him on the phone that last time, a picture of his family being there to greet him came to mind and gave me peace.
Yes. Images of his deceased Mom, Dad, and sister came to my mind and he died within ten minutes. It was as if I were turning him over to their loving care.
I needed to hear this story. But these endless gray skies over lake Ontario in this non-snowy winter are making it a hard story to take in today. Death looks like it's everywhere.
Another way to die: my aunt visited her daughter and grand daughter the week before Thanksgiving. She lay down for a nap and never woke up. She was feeling fine at 88--still living on her own, still driving. Of course, she left us all in shock and grief, but that's our problem, not hers. Sounds better--less arduous--to me than having to try to be graceful and wise in my last days. That said, Roberta sounds like a remarkable, courageous person. May her death be peaceful for her and for your family.
No snow even today? I thought it was snowing everywhere in the country. We even have some here in northern California. They call it grapple?? It must have been very shocking to lose your aunt with no warning. I'd like to hear about her.....try to imagine a person who makes that kind of exit. There is certainly no requirement to be graceful and wise at the end of life...any more than we can make those kinds of demands on ourselves at any point along the way. I have some days where I think I do fairly well, but other days when I'm not really presentable. Know what I mean? Interestingly, Roberta's husband who died at 60 in 1993 told her on a day when she was having a particularly hard time..."Oh, Roberta. People die all the time."
She sounds like a hoot. Your devotion to her is warming.
Vicariously, I honor the love that weaves through your portrait of Roberta. I lost one sister many decades ago. Was not able to say goodbye, she had a violent end in her 35th year. My other sister and I don't have a relationship any more, which is sad to me. I strive to honor her positive traits even as I have withdrawn from the sine curve of crippling dysfunction from our past years. I did not get to say goodbye to my father, or my stepdad, or my mother.
So I'm feeling poignance after reading your piece. Regret. And gratitude that you are able to be there for her in this way, and choose to do so.
I don’t think we’ve given enough time/space to unresolved loss and to the occasions of loss of estranged family members. Sometimes at Hospice, I would see an obituary that described the person dying surrounded by loving family when I knew it was a fabrication. People want it to be the way it’s “supposed” to be, when often it’s not.
."By taking her time, she is allowing us to accompany her." Such a rich and tender portrait of Roberta. I feel as if I know her from our conversations, and now even more from this writing.
It's like a conveyer belt or that game of telephone that we used to play when we were children. I pass it along to you and you'll pass it to someone else. A kind of tenderness.
My aunt seemed happy woman—5 kids, not much money—all the kids went to college, the two girls on basketball scholarships. She liked to travel, took family vacations to Europe, Alaska and around the US with her kids and grandkids up until a couple of years ago. Tough love kind of Mom, but always there when needed. Very private. So it’s possible she might have been ill, but not so that it was showing when she lay down for that nap. I will miss her. She was the last of my parents generation. The youngest one.
It’s very gracious of you to share this story. The idea of private jumps out. At hospice, there were people who waited for a favorite grandson to fly in from college and people who waited for everyone to go home in the evening.
Thank you again for taking the personal and writing it in such a way that we can see the universal themes we all share.
Much appreciated, Carol. I'm thankful for the practice of searching for the big picture in the midst of the everyday.
I guess each of us has our own time frame. Your sister is fortunate that you are allowing her - hers. When my husband died - I wasn't there - strict COVID restrictions were in place at the memory care facility where he lived. As I spoke to him on the phone that last time, a picture of his family being there to greet him came to mind and gave me peace.
I'm wondering if you mean his family members who had pre-deceased him. I find that very comforting as well.
Yes. Images of his deceased Mom, Dad, and sister came to my mind and he died within ten minutes. It was as if I were turning him over to their loving care.
I needed to hear this story. But these endless gray skies over lake Ontario in this non-snowy winter are making it a hard story to take in today. Death looks like it's everywhere.
Another way to die: my aunt visited her daughter and grand daughter the week before Thanksgiving. She lay down for a nap and never woke up. She was feeling fine at 88--still living on her own, still driving. Of course, she left us all in shock and grief, but that's our problem, not hers. Sounds better--less arduous--to me than having to try to be graceful and wise in my last days. That said, Roberta sounds like a remarkable, courageous person. May her death be peaceful for her and for your family.
No snow even today? I thought it was snowing everywhere in the country. We even have some here in northern California. They call it grapple?? It must have been very shocking to lose your aunt with no warning. I'd like to hear about her.....try to imagine a person who makes that kind of exit. There is certainly no requirement to be graceful and wise at the end of life...any more than we can make those kinds of demands on ourselves at any point along the way. I have some days where I think I do fairly well, but other days when I'm not really presentable. Know what I mean? Interestingly, Roberta's husband who died at 60 in 1993 told her on a day when she was having a particularly hard time..."Oh, Roberta. People die all the time."
That's a sweet tribute Susie, thank you.
She sounds like a hoot. Your devotion to her is warming.
Vicariously, I honor the love that weaves through your portrait of Roberta. I lost one sister many decades ago. Was not able to say goodbye, she had a violent end in her 35th year. My other sister and I don't have a relationship any more, which is sad to me. I strive to honor her positive traits even as I have withdrawn from the sine curve of crippling dysfunction from our past years. I did not get to say goodbye to my father, or my stepdad, or my mother.
So I'm feeling poignance after reading your piece. Regret. And gratitude that you are able to be there for her in this way, and choose to do so.
Life teaches us all in ineffable ways.
I don’t think we’ve given enough time/space to unresolved loss and to the occasions of loss of estranged family members. Sometimes at Hospice, I would see an obituary that described the person dying surrounded by loving family when I knew it was a fabrication. People want it to be the way it’s “supposed” to be, when often it’s not.
Wonderful essay. Sending love to you and your sister.
."By taking her time, she is allowing us to accompany her." Such a rich and tender portrait of Roberta. I feel as if I know her from our conversations, and now even more from this writing.
Glad I was able to bring you two together. Two great souls.
Thank you so much for sharing. It is so wonderful to be able to predicate those in our lives, exactly where they are.
So true. We can't be other than who we are. We are blessed with a certain melody and it's ours to sing.
I don't know how to express how wonderful this essay is. I'm able to see and feel it all. Thank you for sharing this experience.
It's like a conveyer belt or that game of telephone that we used to play when we were children. I pass it along to you and you'll pass it to someone else. A kind of tenderness.
YES! And I will.
My heart is with you both. Thank you. And I mean it, too.
I know you do, Alice. We haven't met but I believe I know you in some other way.