On February 25, 2022 my Aunt Joan passed away. She was 88 and had been living in a nursing home in Vermont for years while her Alzheimer's progressed. A few days before her passing, she fell and broke her hip. Her condition made it impossible to operate as she would not have lived through the surgery so the only option was to keep her comfortable. On the evening of the 25th, she died peacefully in her sleep.
My aunt's passing means that out of a family of seven kids, my mom is the only one left. She, too, is in a nursing home. At 95 and stricken with dementia, she is unable to comprehend that she has lost her last sibling. Knowing this, we have made the decision not to tell her. The necessity of that decision made all the more profound for me the wealth of family lore that is now gone. I know many of the family stories, but until I no longer had anyone to ask, I didn't realize how many questions I have about them. For years, we'd been asking my mom to record her memories. She'd always promised to do so, but somehow never got around to it. Now it's too late.
Family stories are important. They tell of a shared past, of lives lived, relationships built and cherished, sorrows endured and shared, and joys celebrated. They express the things that were important to a family. Pay attention to the stories that get handed down, told repeatedly. Commit them to memory or, better yet, write them down. And ask all the questions you can think of while you still can.
I remember one day when my mom and I were washing dishes together. She was in a reminiscing mood so I heard all about the time when she was thirteen years old and her mother was hospitalized for weeks with a serious illness caused by drinking contaminated raw milk. As the second-to-oldest child and the oldest girl, it fell to her to run the household and care for her younger siblings while her mother was in the hospital and her father was working. This story was told to me only a few years before her dementia progressed to the point where she had to go to a nursing home, but unlike many family stories it was the first time I'd ever heard it. She also regailed me with details of how she and her mother worked in a factory together during World War II. They were working on a project for the U.S. Navy, but each group of women was making a different part and none of them ever knew what it was they were building. I thought about how many of the events from my mom's life would make great stories, but I have so many questions. I've no doubt a lot of them will find their way into my future novels, but I so wish I had the opportunity to ask all the questions that come to me now when I ruminate on them.
My aunt's passing and the inevitable day when my mom follows her, signals the end of an era in our family. But the stories will live on as best as we can continue to share them. No doubt we'll add new ones of our own for future generations. I hope they ask a lot of questions.
Rest in Peace, Aunt Joan
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