One is NOT Only

My family lost our matriarch this week-my Aunt Sue. Aunt Sue was my father’s sister. Their parents, Elsie and Burly Bradley, had three boys Ralph, Thelbert and Durward, followed by three girls-Sue, Shirley and Wanda. Aunt Sue was the fourth child and oldest girl. She was an incredibly strong women who loved the farm life her three older brothers could not wait to escape and took over their chores willingly as they left home. My grandfather affectionately called her “his best boy” because of her willingness to outwork her brothers.

My family spent summer vacations and every Thanksgiving on that same farm with my aunts, uncles, and 20 first cousins. Aunt Sue was famous for being tough and tolerating no nonsense what so ever-it did not matter whose kid you were.   All the cousins wish that as we became parents that we had been able to duplicate her famous “look”. Aunt Sue’s “look” could rival Coach Pat Summit’s legendary glare. We were all a bit scared of her as little kids. We also never doubted she loved us wholeheartedly. My mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease when I was 19 and Aunt Sue became my mother figure as she had for other cousins.  When my marriage was ending, she and Uncle David offered their home as a place to land so I could find my way.

Aunt Sue taught us how to live. She and Uncle David were able to celebrate their 65th wedding anniversary last year before we lost him in April. At his funeral she looked at me and said, ” I have been so blessed. I would not change anything-how many people get to say that?” I know I can’t say that. It was not because her life was easy. They lost their first son when he was three days old and she lost her younger sister and best friend, my Aunt Shirley to a drunk driver in 1975. Through the coming years Aunt Sue was the glue that held our family together. She made sure we continued our family gatherings and maintained our sense of family. Just as she taught us how to live; Aunt Sue taught us how to die.

We got the word less than two weeks ago that a lesion on her pancreas had turned malignant. My cousin Connie was with her when the doctor gave her the news. Connie asked her mother how she felt about what she had just learned. Aunt Sue said without hesitating, ” There is a time to live and there is a time die-this is my time to die”. Over the coming days Aunt Sue gave us all one last lesson on how to live as she prepared for death. She chose not to have further treatments and put out the word for all who could to come and visit and for the next week her  children, their spouses, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, her remaining sister, my Aunt Wanda and her husband Uncle John Thomas, and all the cousins and our families gathered to spend time with her. Cousins flew across the country, drove all night to make sure they could see Aunt Sue one last time. We started asking questions about having children, life on the farm, and how she knew Uncle David was the one. Her eyes still shone with love as she talked about him driving out to the farm all upset because he found out she was dating another boy too. She told him she had never kept that a secret and what made him think he owned her anyway! Uncle David said that was true but he thought he just might want to so she was going to need to make up her mind. Apparently it did not take her long to decide because they were married three months later.

After the doctors removed her feeding tube as she prepared to go to hospice care, Aunt Sue asked the nurse if she could sit up in the chair. The nurse looked doubtfully and said warily-well you can, but…and before she could get to the side of the bed, Aunt Sue had rolled out of the bed and slowly walked to a chair and set down and proceeded to start doing ankle rolls and leg lifts. The nurse teared up and told Aunt Sue she had never seen anything like this and that caring for her was a complete blessing. When the doctor came to connect a pain pump  Aunt Sue told him she did not want it-she looked at her family in the room and told him,”these people are my medicine-they do more for me than any medication.” She spent her last days calling people who were unable to visit to tell them what they meant to her.   Walking out of her room on my last visit was incredibly hard-I knew it was the last time. I called her  a few days later and even though she was struggling to talk at this point she asked me about my hike, if the rhododendrons were blooming and “you do know how much I love you?”  I told her she had been showing me that her whole life.

We celebrated Aunt Sue’s life yesterday and we heard many stories of how she had shared the same love she gave our family with her whole community.  We sang I Come to the Garden Alone, Amazing Grace and How Great Thou Art –hymns reflecting Aunt Sue’s source of strength and hope throughout her life. My sister went to ride with my children so they could have a few minutes together and I ended up in my car alone to drive to the cemetery for Aunt Sue’s burial. The finality of this great loss was hitting me as I joined the funeral procession driving down the highway and tears filled my eyes as I wished for a hand to reach for. As we drove down the road cars started to pull over and stop along the roadside- a sweet southern custom of respect. As we drove for several miles every single car pulled over to the roadside, stopped and honored one making her final journey.  I could not see the face of anyone in those cars, the most I could see was a hand on top of the steering wheel raised in a wave.  I didn’t know whether they were a man or woman, black or white and the only thing they knew about me was that I had lost someone I loved and they wanted to acknowledge that loss and pain-I was not alone. My heart swelled with appreciation as I remembered the same drive to the same cemetery when my parents were buried almost 30 years ago and this same comfort being extended from strangers as they put their own needs aside, pulled over and stopped as a way to say ” we may not know you but we care that you have lost someone you love”.

I realized during this drive Aunt Sue was providing me with one last lesson on how to live. I want to live so that dying is a welcome journey. I thought about all the tragedy in the news the past few weeks and how fear is causing us to hurt each other and argue rather than comfort. I want to let others loss, grief , or joy be something I notice. I want to care enough to stop where I am hurrying to and do what I can.

©  Michelle Campanis 2016