Early this morning, my great-aunt Ann passed away. She was 95 years old, living independently until about a year ago. After she suffered a major stroke on Monday, my mom and the other nieces hurried to Connecticut so that her last few days would be spent in the company of family. While we certainly had planned for the logistics of her end-of-life care, we’re still dealing with the tragedy of finality. Of course, part of coping is allowing the flood of memories to surface, taking the time to savor each one, eventually to package them into a mental archive of remembrance. For me, the flood started with our most recent visit, and I hope it continues to dredge up older memories as days go by.
I am beyond thankful that I visited Auntie Ann this October. She was still living at home, and I shared several meals with her and her younger sisters, Grandma and my great-aunt Betty. We sat by her big window and reflected on some of the wonderful times we shared. In 2013, we went to a Connecticut Sun game together – our first time to a WNBA game despite both being lifelong basketball fans (her first love is UConn women’s basketball, but she knew her Sun too! And of course, I’ll never forget playing the slots after the game…Auntie Ann was always quick to remind you when her luck was “TERRIBLE”). Beyond a shared passion for basketball, we used to play Scrabble at every opportunity. She taught me how to play as soon as I learned to read, and that was the start of something special. We were very competitive: she would block triple word squares at every opportunity, complain about pulling too many vowels, and challenge my use of those cheap little two letter words like ‘et’ and ‘qi’ (I’m sorry Auntie Ann, those aren’t words, I should’ve known better…). I’d write her Scrabble-themed birthday and thank you cards, and she’d send me newspaper clippings of Scrabble-related news and tournament results. One time, an important Scrabble match delayed our drive back to Maine by several hours, and we had to stop at a motel because of a late-night snowstorm. Did we take our shared interests too far? Maybe, but I’d do it all again if I could.
I only knew her during her later years, but she lived quite a life. When I was very young, I remember her being in the paper for winning a golf tournament (at age 74, mind you), and she was very active at the Pautipaug country club. She took two generations of nieces and nephews to the pool at Pautipaug, which provided us all with fun memories. She and Uncle Julie traveled all over – taking vacations to Israel, Europe, and other places before tourism was really a thing. During our last visit, she described the cruises she took with her girlfriends in the 40s and 50s from New York to Bermuda, the Bahamas, and the Caribbean. It made me think how profoundly different her life experience was – and how much the world has changed during her lifetime – she grew up in a Russian immigrant family, came of age working various jobs during World War II, didn’t marry until age 38 then remained the ‘cool aunt’ (Mom tells me she used to make martinis for Auntie Ann as a kid). I wish I had probed for more of her perspective when I was younger, but it was always a challenge to glean new stories. In our last couple visits, I did manage to coax out a few stories I hadn’t heard before, including her experience watching the 1938 hurricane from the window of their townhouse. I am realizing that the shared experiences of our elders, particularly of her generation, are incredibly interesting and important to hear…there’s a reason they’re called the greatest generation. Growing up in a depression, coming of age during wartime, and shaping the America we know today as adults – they collectively made the most of a far worse hand than any of us were dealt. I encourage readers of my generation to call your grandparents/older relatives or friends, not only because they’ll be happy to hear from you but also to listen and learn from them while you can.
From my visit with Auntie Ann, Grandma, and Auntie Betty last October…the selfie was an afterthought compared to the homemade pork chop casserole dinner and hours of conversation.
Worldly Observations 