Last Saturday, my family and I attended a memorial service for my father's sister, Aunt Carol Jean. It was a beautiful service, and I was happy that my mom, my siblings, and I had been able to fly up to Indiana despite heavy snow in the north.
Gathered in a meeting room in the retirement center where she had lived for decades, we listened to many heartwarming stories from her 96 years of life. Here is what I shared...
One thing I remember about Aunt Carol is being shocked to learn that she was the only person I'd ever met who could eat as much homemade ice cream as I could. Both of us had good eating habits, and we loved talking about healthy recipes, especially gluten-free breads and desserts. Still, we both lost all control when the ice cream freezer came out at family reunions. Even though we knew we would suffer a lot of discomfort for it, we each decided it was worth it to indulge in one, two, three bowls of ice cream covered in Aunt Carol's decadent homemade fudge sauce.
I got close to Aunt Carol after staying with her in her apartment at the retirement center on a couple of trips to Indiana. My favorite part of those stays was playing Scrabble with her and Aunt Donna, her younger sister. Although I have a great vocabulary and like to think I'm pretty intelligent, playing with Aunt Carol was humbling, to say the least. I might as well have been a beginning reader compared to her. [Listening to Aunt Donna's tribute at the service helped my self-esteem. It turns out that Aunt Carol had played as many as three Scrabble games per day!]
When I went through very hard times during my divorce, I confided in my aunt, often via email. She always had an encouraging verse and prayer for me, and she was faithful to lift me up in prayer for as long as I needed it. I wish I could remember exactly what she said to me. One thing I do remember is that she urged me to read the book of John all in one sitting. She said it would help me understand Jesus's love. I took her advice, and she was right: ever since that day, I have thought of myself as Sarah, the woman Jesus loves.
I will miss Aunt Carol, especially when I'm eating homemade ice cream. But it gives me great joy to picture her in heaven with her brother, my father, who died about a year and a half ago. Aunt Carol always referred to the day of her husband's death as Uncle Roy's heavenly birthday. I'm very happy that my dad was there to celebrate with her on her own heavenly birthday.
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| Aunt Donna, Dad, Aunt Carol Jean (When the Sisters Visited Texas) |
Beautiful Brokenness
There was much to admire in Aunt Carol's life. I heard stories of her and Uncle Roy serving in Ecuador and Nigeria as missionaries, of her winning state tennis tournaments into her forties, and of her stepping out of her comfort zone to take on a leadership role at the retirement center. I also heard how she had been a tireless advocate for her son who had a disability, and how she and Aunt Donna encouraged one another when each battled breast cancer, at ages 68 and 69.
In his tribute, my cousin René admitted that he had longed for a closer adult relationship with both of his parents. A lot of the difficulty had arisen due to geographical distance, but in later years he lived close to them, yet still did not develop the closeness he craved. Although René didn't hide his regrets, he placed no blame. Instead, he shared a tender story of how his mother comforted him when he suffered a disappointment during childhood, and he talked of her accomplishments and strengths.
He concluded by acknowledging that often our family relationships are imperfect because we are imperfect people. Even though we may not experience the intimacy that we long for on this earth, we have assurance of healing and wholeness when we meet our loved ones again in heaven.
René's words moved me to tears, though I could not say whether they were happy tears or sad. It was just beautiful to hear someone share the truth about the messiness of family connections, and to see how he honored his mother's memory by choosing to focus on her strength and faithfulness.
I left that service with a renewed appreciation for my own family, and a determination to cultivate more fulfilling relationships by accepting my loved ones as they are.
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| My Grandfather Arta, Aunt Carol, Aunt Donna, Dad, Grandma Belva |
Aunt Carol was a year older than Dad, and 13 years older than their sister Donna. You can read more about Dad's family in the book of memoirs that I edited for him and Mom.
