My Sweet Aunt Emma

Despite my brain being in a fog from a pesky summer head cold, I've been thinking so much about my Aunt Emma since her passing almost two weeks ago.  I needed to write to share my thoughts about how she changed my life and those around her, even toward the end.

My Great Aunt Emma peacefully passed away June 30th at the age of 98.  I had the honor of visiting her bimonthly at Conestoga View.

After signing in I reluctantly grab a visitors pass. It always looks like the past three people who wore the pass used it as a napkin to wipe off their hands after lunch.  I wait for the five minute elevator ride to take me to floor number seven.  The same thoughts run through my head during the ride up: "I could take the steps so much quicker."  "Where is the stair case anyway?"  "How did people get anything done when elevators were so slow in the seventies?" "Am I just being impatient?"  As my thoughts continue to linger eventually the doors open and I'm spit out to my desired floor.

I am immediately introduced to scents of the floor.  Institutional food mixed with bodily fluids mixed with nail polish remover.  I try to tell my brain which smell to focus on to lessen the likelihood of me physically looking like I smell something awful.  Oh look, ladies getting their nails done.  How cute! I am distracted at this adorable site as four elderly ladies sit at the table and fan their fingers for the Resident Assistant to paint their nails.  As endearing as this site is, I continue my mission and scan the common space to look for her.

She is easy to find.  She is sitting in the glider by the window smiling.  She is dressed to the T, and looks like she has been waiting for me all day.  "Hi Aunt Emma! It's Emily!"  I gently touch the top of her hand and  slowly bend down to embrace her for a hug.  I don't want to freak her out because I know with her dementia it will take her a while to remember me. And despite the continuity of my visits I notice her dementia gets worse as time goes, making each visit more of a memory jog.  She doesn't look scared at all by me and even though I know she has no idea who I am yet she embraces me for a strong hug and cheerful greeting.  I am always impressed by the strength of her hugs for being so small.  We sit down in the common area surrounded by others.  She always offers me the best of what she has right away.  Whether it is the comfy glider, or the sandwich she's eating for lunch; her selflessness and desire to see others comfortable is one trait that never left her.

We usually begin our visit by a five minute introduction and explanation of how we are related.   "Now I know I know you, but remind me again; Who ARE you?"  she would ask me every time.  "Now which one's Carol?"  When I would tell her I'm Carol's granddaughter and Michelle's daughter.  Once we sort have those bases covered we would talk about life and what was going on in the Conestoga View world.  "Oh, I love it here."  She would always say.  Then she proceeds to point out the most ordinary things and describe how wonderful they are and how grateful she to be there.  "Look at this chair!  It's so wonderful.  See,  it's right by the window, and I just sit here and look outside."  She smiles and rocks contently in the glider. The sun from the seventh story shines through and gives her short white hair almost a halo appearance. "Now what is it you do?" she asks with such interest.  Depending on the time I would tell her I was in nurses training or I was a nurse.  She smiles so big with familiarity. Nursing was such a big part of Aunt Emma's life that no matter how much of the world she forgets; nursing is so tightly wound in her DNA she will always remember it.  Relief comes over me that we have something we can talk about that she remembers.  I ask about where she worked and the adventures and places nursing took her.  I know she went as far as Colorado and Hawaii to nurse, which back then I'm sure was huge adventure for a Mennonite woman from Akron, PA. Not being able to fully remember locations she says "I've been a lot places and did a lot of things.  Yes, it's good work we do."  We chat a little more about helping people and I tell her how cool I think it is she traveled so much in her career. Aunt Emma received many accolades for being the amazing human and nurse, and  I often would tell her I hope I'm as good of a nurse as she was.  She would smile and at this point the dementia is as far away as it can be.  She grabs my hand, leans in and says "You'll be a good one.  I know it."  With her tendency to repeat herself and the multiple visits, she said this many times.  However,  each time it gave me chills and I silently vow to myself to do my part to make this true.

We continue to chat in the common room when suddenly we here a cry and moan.  Heads turn and attention is drawn to the middle aged man with special needs.  He is sitting on the couch with his legs drawn to his chest.  His face turns cherry red and big, fat tears roll down his face.  It is unclear what provoked the melt down, but the folks don't seemed too concerned.  Apparently this occurs multiple times a day, and these crying episodes are just per his baseline.  Someone offers an "It's okayyy…"  from across the room.  But once people see who it is they just return to what they are doing.  There are nails to paint, pills to pass, and TV to watch.  Aunt Emma sees him, touches my hand and excuses herself from our conversation.  She walks across the room to the couch where the man is sitting.  She puts her hand on his shoulder and gently rubs his back.  The man cries harder and tears are now soaking his sweater. "Let me show you how to fix this." she says referring to his tears.  She reaches up her sleeve and pulls out two used tissues.  She dries the mans tears and then shows him how to do it himself.  She watches as the man fumbles with the tissues and attempts to pat his eyes.  This lesson is easing his crying and he is slowly calming down.  The sobs are turning into soft sniffles.  "Okay." Aunt Emma gently takes the tissues from his hands and refolds them as she's about to reinforce the lesson. "Next time you feel sad you just go like this."  She shows him again how to wipe his tears and blow his nose.  She gives him the tissues for his keeping, pats him again and walks away.  She comes back to me as I try to hold in my own tears.  "He wasn't very happy."  She says.  "Hopefully that helped."  We continue our conversation and she talks like nothing happened.  But I know from across the room on that couch, that mans world was made a little brighter.

There were so many times I saw Aunt Emma make people's lives a little brighter.  People loved her and she loved people.  Having a failing memory and three roommates might provoke someone to be grumpy or to expect pity.  That was never the case with her.  She was always happy, but not the fake kind of happy where people put on a front just to make others feel okay.  No, Aunt Emma was always optimistic and looked for best and humor in all situations.  Her constant peaceful disposition was always refreshing to be around.  She always displayed manners and class to everyone she encountered, even when others didn't do the same.  I was honored and inspired every time I visited her.  I would leave committed to wanting to be kinder, more positive and to look for the others who need help; just like Aunt Emma.

About a week before she passed away I was visiting her daily.  I would go in either before or after work.  Even if  it was late and the doors were locked, the people at the front desk would let me in.  I would sit beside her on the bed, read some Psalms, or just hold her hand.  She looked so at ease and beautiful even toward the end. One night I was just holding her hand.  Time was just passing, and nothing special was going on.  I let my hand go as I prepared to leave.  Immediately I felt a weak grip.  My Aunt Emma with all the strength she could muster grabbed my hand and placed it closer to her chest.  Chills ran down my spine, and I froze in that moment not wanting to forget any of it.  Right there on the seventh floor in Conestoga View, I felt like the luckiest girl, most loved girl in the world. I kissed her and left.  As I left her dark room and into the florescent lit hallway, I still had chills from that moment and promised myself to never forget that.  I took the five minute elevator ride down only this time my thoughts were more somber but my heart still full of love.

After Aunt Emma passed my Grandma and I were talking.  She told me that I remind her of Aunt Emma sometimes.  And honestly it took a lot of work for my head not to swell too much.  I only got to know Aunt Emma well in the later stages of her life, but it was nonetheless one of the most inspiring relationships I've had.  I only heard stories form others about her in her prime.  The combination of these stories and the cumulation of my visits with her make her one of my heroes.

At her viewing last week my great aunts gave me one of Aunt Emma's necklaces.  I wore it to work yesterday.  The combination of battling a cold, working a second twelve and having a heavy assignment made for a difficult shift.  Mid shift I took a bathroom break and washed my hands.  I caught my reflection and saw the necklace.  Immediately I thought of aunt Emma.  I thought of her tenacious personality and optimism.  I revisited a memory of her smiling and trying to make the best of a situation.  I adjusted the necklace and as well as my attitude.  And just like Aunt Emma made the seventh floor at Conestoga View a little better, I decided to make the seventh floor at LGH a little better as well.