Fear Not.

What is not real, never was and never will be.

What is real, always was and cannot be destroyed.

--Bhagavad Gita

 

[written 7/25/07]

Aunt Es is in her final days.  Her breathing is quiet and slow.  I saw her a few days ago and told her funny stories.  She was still present enough to show she was amused, although her speech was confused.  When I left to return home, I kissed her forehead, said I loved her, told her she could leave when she was ready and that we would all be fine.  I stroked her hair as I said good-bye.  Since she was asleep, I don’t know if she heard me.

 

Esther is 92.  She has often asked over the last couple of years why she is still here, since she so much misses her family, especially her twin brother, Ernie.  She wrote to Uncle Ernie everyday in her journal, where she also listed the day’s temperature.  She also prayed everyday on her own, long ago abandoning attendance at church.

 

Esther was a storyteller.  She told us often that she’d never learned to drive and so took the bus to work every day, rain or shine or snow, until she retired.  And winters were never easy in northern Kentucky.  She was the hostess at a Cincinnati café near the courthouse, so her customers were often judges and attorneys.  A fearless presence, Esther didn’t hesitate to tease her customers one moment and put them in their places the next.  Nobody messed with Esther.  But she also had a tender heart.  She nursed Ernie at home until he died of cancer.  She also took care of her aging younger sister, whom she called Babe, until she had to be moved to a nursing facility.  We learned just a few days ago that the woman who is the head nurse at Aunt Esther’s hospice was orphaned at the age of 14 and was desperate for a job.  Esther gave her one.

 

Esther was a trooper.  She boasted that she wasn’t on any medications, even though her doctors periodically gave her prescriptions for one problem or another.  When she didn’t like what the doctor said, she’d give him “the eye,” and I imagine to myself that the first time she did it, the doctor took a step back.  Like everyone else, he learned that Esther didn’t take nonsense from anyone.

 

We learned to love her energy and sense of humor.  When her nephew (my husband) Jerry would make a subtle joke about her age, it never got by her.  She'd call him an " … ‘s-a’ ... and that doesn’t stand for sex appeal," and we’d all laugh.  Although she became more fragile as she got older, she would still make the walk to Kroger’s across the street, holding on to the shopping cart which was kept in the hallway of her apartments, holding her head high.  Every evening she would have her toddy, whisky and club soda, to finish off the night.  She loved to cook for herself, and when we visited, she’d make pork tenderloin, mashed potatoes, marinated carrots or cucumbers, and green beans.  Jerry would mash up the potatoes for her and we’d have tea afterward at her little table.  She liked to watch bowling, animal shows and the news on television; she’d often check the weather channel to learn what our weather was like.

 

As a self-reliant woman, she hated to ask others for help.  We’d cringe when we’d hear she’d been climbing a stepladder to move boxes, or moving furniture around.  As the years progressed, she’d acquiesce to our requests and let us help her when we visited, or ask Buck the handyman to help her out.

 

So Esther is ready to go, although she isn’t going easily.  But that’s her choice.  She will be remembered, and always loved.  I just hope that Ernie is waiting for her on the other side.

[Aunt Es passed away on 7/26/07]