Thinking of Aunt Jean

My favorite aunt died at 75 in February, 1987. Every year I think about her and give thanks. They said it was her heart. Well, it was. Her heart was broken. She had out-lived two husbands and she was so lonely.

Jean was my father's younger sister. All through the years, the two couples remained closely connected. She "took me in" when I came here to teach in 1964, a very green 21 year old, who had never lived on her own. Each of my two sisters also lived with her at various points. She was like that; always enfolding others in her loving arms, literally or figuratively. She was a mother extraordinaire. At the end of that first year, she hosted my wedding party and I moved on to life with Norris.

She always struggled, economically and emotionally. Her older sister died and left two small children whom she helped raise. Then her mother died, when Jean was still a teen. Her father eked out a meager living on a southern Illinois farm. In 1963, the father of her three children died in his early 50's. She trained to take over his investment business, something she knew almost nothing about. Later, she remarried and in those years, having become successful in her work, she could finally spend a little money frivolously. She had "awful" hair, so she bought oodles of hats and wigs and looked great!

The thing I loved most about her was: affection. She never feared to hug or stroke or cuddle or kiss those she loved, especially kids. Her loving touch helped to heal my childhood wounds. Instead of yelling at me to get up in the morning, she would come in, sit on the edge of the bed, scratch my back and talk quietly until I was really awake. She was a good cook. She always fixed hamburgers on Saturday night, chicken for Sunday dinner, and popcorn and RC Cola on Sunday evening. She willingly allowed her kids and me to bring home friends, dates, etc. There was always room for one more at the table.

While her life story doesn't mean much to most of you reading this, her example probably reminds you of someone in your own life--someone who simply lived who they were and touched people far more deeply than they could have imagined. I hope she knew or knows how grateful I am for the crucial part she played in my life. She taught me much, not the least of which is that one CAN go on, even when she is lonely. Her determination and faith in God made it possible. So I know it can be possible for me, as well. Thank you, Aunt Jean! Thank you, God!