If I could choose a place to die: Tribute to Aunt Rose (1931-2009)

Aunt Rose died this morning. The word came a short while ago from my brother Mike, who's a pharmacy technician. Together with his wife Helen, who's a licensed practical nurse, he has been returning the favor to a woman who always went out of her way for her nieces and nephews, great-nieces and great-nephews, and great-great-nieces and great-great-nephews. Mike and Helen took Aunt Rose into their home for the past month, attending to Aunt Rose's needs in their own makeshift hospice setting. There, they've kept her alive and in great spirits and out of most physical pain, and they've dished out more than just medicine and liquids; their best treatment is a healthy regimen of love.

As many relatives as could make it filed in and out of Aunt Rose's room this week. I was so happy to be one of them. When I saw Aunt Rose last weekend, she was grateful to see me. It's that whole absence making the heart grow fonder thing. She had always been happy to hear my voice on the phone whenever I called, but to see me in person and have me kiss her hand were additional treats for her. And it worked both ways too. Hearing her voice on the phone was one thing. I knew she was still with it, that she still had a cogent mind on her shoulders. She attested to being somewhat frustrated that her instant recall was sometimes diminished, but she also never had an unkind word to say, even about the less-than-ideal living conditions of her previous nursing home and being awkwardly shipped around from one place to a hospice to a nursing home. Aunt Rose always looked at the positive. "Well, at least the food was good." What a saint.

The photos here are from my third birthday, in 1982, and this week. The latter is the last picture taken of her and me together. My niece Nikki took that shot when I asked her to, on Thursday. I wouldn't have even thought of getting the shot were it not for a request from Dessie back in Florida. She'd never seen Aunt Rose and wanted to know what Aunt Rose looked like. I even doubted whether any pose would be good enough since she was in a hospital bed and there was no real way to get close to her without sort of stepping behind the bed or something like that. All I had to do was try. And Aunt Rose put her hand on my cheek both times we posed for a picture. Since I'm an idiot, I had my eyes closed for the first photo and Nikki had us get back into position and retake it.

A lot of family members were over visiting with Aunt Rose yesterday, and she was hanging on through it all even if she wasn't totally aware since she was more often asleep than not, and when she was waking up she was a little disoriented. And in the thick of it all, Nikki said something that kind of makes sense. She said she thought Aunt Rose might not want to die in front of everybody, that she wanted to go alone, so as not to worry everybody. That's Aunt Rose for you, taking on even death on her own. And that's what happened. She died at probably about 3:15 a.m., peacefully and alone. When Helen last saw her, Aunt Rose was breathing normally and not with the apnea that had ruled most of her last couple of days. When she last checked on her, there were none of the sporadic heavy breaths and 20-second periods of silence. Helen said Aunt Rose was just peaceful, calm. What a way to go. If you could choose a place to die, this must be one of the better choices.

I'm going to miss Aunt Rose, but not as much as had I not been prepared for the news of her passing. And Aunt Rose was prepared for this too. Thank goodness for that, and thank goodness for Aunt Rose. She never had kids of her own, but she sure influenced a lot of kids in our family. We saw in her true generosity and serenity.