Farewell and Much Love to Aunt Millie

I received the call from the hospice nurse yesterday morning. Aunt Millie had taken a turn for the worse. I guess it was a call I had been expecting for quite a while. Turns out this really was the end. My husband’s Aunt Millie passed away last night shortly before 10 pm.

It’s been rough go the last five years or so. So

tough to see someone you knew as a sassy, vivacious woman slowly and steadily decline into the abyss. I watched as her body became increasingly frail, and as her cognitive capacity became more and more limited. I can’t tell you how much I rejoice that she has finally been freed from the bondage of those earthly restraints.

She was a tough woman, in a demure sort of way. At her peak, she was five foot two and 118 pounds. An introvert by nature, she always told me not to worry about making her into a social being, because she rather enjoyed her own company. She admits that she lurked in the shadow to her older sister Dorothy, far more extroverted and outgoing. But when Dorothy died in 1972 and left young sons, it was Millie who stepped up to the plate and served as the motherly figure.

While introverted, she wasn’t necessarily as passive as one might think. She used to tell me that some folks would call her “Mulie,” meaning “Stubborn as a mule.” I know that first-hand. A few years ago we attempted to remove the throw rugs from her apartment because they were a trip hazard. We put them in her closet. She obviously wasn’t hip to that, because the next time we visited the rugs were back on her floor. (Lesson learned!)

So minus the past five years, let me tell you about the Millie I knew.

When I first met my husband Ed, he talked incessantly about his Aunt Millie. I knew immediately that she was a woman I wanted to meet. A couple of months after we started dating, we went Christmas shopping and he wanted to buy her a nice dress. He didn’t know what size she wore. So he called her on a pay phone (no cell phones at that time) and told her that he was shopping for a dress for me. So being that she had not yet met me, he told her that I was about her size (way more than a white lie), and asked her what size she was (size 8). Anyway, he purchased a beautiful dress for her that day (which, by the way, I chose). While most of her clothes have been given to Goodwill, I couldn’t bear to part with that one yet.

When I finally did meet Millie, I found her to be quite the vivacious woman. You would think she was quiet and demure, but it only took a little time of getting to know her when she would talk your ear off. I was struck by the fact that she intensely valued family. While she was widowed very young and never had children of her own, her nieces and nephews meant the world to her.

I can’t relay the stories of them all, but I can share those of my own husband. My husband Ed has shared stories of Millies’s compassion and generosity. Having lost his mother (Millie’s sister) in 1972, he speaks highly of how Millie stepped up to the plate to step into the mother role.

As to my own recollections, they are many.

When Ed and I got married, it was Millie who lit the unity candle on behalf of his side of the family and stood with his father for the family pictures.

When my first son Clay was born, I remember how she came to my house the day after I came home from the hospital. She held my baby boy. And held him. And held him. I pretty much had to coax her to give him back. Up to that point she had never changed a diaper. Starting with Clay, and then with Luke and Sam, she became a pro.

If you would have asked her, she would have told you she was their grandmother. For the most part, she was. And like most grandmothers, she totally spoiled them. When I was pregnant with Clay, she was adamant about the fact that I needed a good rocking chair to rock the baby in. She bought me the most expensive rocking chair in the store, which I still have. She bought them toys, of course, and the occasional savings bond.

A child of the depression, she would come for dinner and want to save the tiniest teaspoon of peas (which drove me crazy). Not to say she didn’t have her quirks. Don’t we all?

Despite the quirks, I loved her. I loved her because she loved my husband and my children so much. And I’m guessing she might have loved me too.

I know she wasn’t happy when we transitioned her to assisted living. And I was heartbroken when we moved her into nursing home care (though I have to say we were completely satisfied with the nursing home we chose). But I know the Millie of 10 or 15 years ago would have told us to do what we needed to do that was in her best interests. I hope we did her right.

We so love you Millie. And we so rejoice because we know that tonight you are in a better place. Enjoy the reunion with our loved ones in the hereafter. Know that we will always love you and look forward to when we can join you in the heavenly reward. And rest in peace, my dear. You are forever loved.