Auntie Marj

She was not my Auntie. She was everyone's.

Auntie Marj lived in an Assisted Living complex. She had a two bedroom suite at the end of a long hall from the dining room and entry hall. Every night my visit would end with two of the ladies along the corridor calling in to say goodnight. It wasn't that she needed them, more that they needed her.

Something in Auntie Marj reached out in love for the entire world. She had no children of her own and had lost her husband long decades ago. Never a quitter, she decided to get her teaching certificate. Then she travelled the world teaching and learning. I think she was in her fifties at the time. "Every place I go I meet the most wonderful people," she would say before launching into a story about someone in Japan or The Phillipines or France who affirmed her endless faith in the inherent goodness of mankind.

"There sure is a difference in you girls," she would say. Later I found out that was her very discreet way of signalling that not everyone did peri-care, a small but necessary task she was no longer able to do on her own. "Sit down and have a coffee with us." She knew very well I had a list of 13 people to see but she offered anyway.

The two ladies from down the way would come in and sit by her bedside. One was legally blind the other had had a series of devastating strokes and could speak but with varying degrees of clarity. I would get my things together and wave cheery-bye and the trio would sing back to me. It was such a beautiful sound.

That summer was the first of our very hot ones. It generally does not stay above the 70s F let alone the 80s for longer than 3 or 4 days. We think ourselves lucky to get 2 weeks without rain. Something in the climate is different these years and that summer came in like a lion roaring in sunny splendour. We wilted and replenished ourselves in the late nite coolness. Auntie Marj was having trouble with her ears. "I just feel like I am on the top of a building looking down." After two falls she more or less took to her bed except for an hour or two when she would get up in her wheelchair.

"I am turning 90 you know". No I had not known. For 2 weeks there were people coming and going and staying and leaving and flowers lined every surface. Auntie Marj had a party in the dining room and managed to make all her well-wishers believe she had nothing worse than a stiff knee joint necessitating the wheelchair. Trickster!

July ended with a fall. August started with another one. My heart hurt to see more bruises every day. "I just cant seem to stay right end up!" We sat and read her cards to her, I and the lady of soft voice. Singaporeans, Alaskans, people from all over the globe... every card started the same way: "Happy Birthday beloved Auntie Marj" or variants thereof.

That night as I left she took my hand and said: "well kid: Nice knowing you!"
"WHAT?" I was leery of those sort of remarks.

"Oh I did not want to spoil your visit. I am leaving tomorrow. I sold my place to my friend here and I am going to live in the Hospital. But it sure was swell knowing you."

Auntie Marj lived another year almost to the day in the Hospital where they say she availed herself of every opportunity to socialise and went on every outing, greeted every visitor and went off to eternity with a great big smile.

God Bless you Auntie Marj. Today is for you.

-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=--=-=---=-=-=-=---=-=-=-=---