Aunty Mary

Yesterday was the anniversary of my Great Aunt Mary’s death.  She died 14 years ago yesterday.  And she was, in all senses, a Great Aunt.  She was 88 years old when she died.  Double infinity.  Double infinity describes the love I still feel for her after all these years. 

Until she was struck with Alzheimer’s in the last few years of her life, Aunty Mary, or Mame, was always joyful and full of good spirits.  I always knew she loved me, no matter what.  And I put that to the test on numerous occasions.  There was the time that I was making prank phone calls with a friend who was visiting.  By mistake, we called the operator and said something nasty.  Well, the operator wouldn’t hang up!  I tried repeatedly to hang up the phone hoping she would give up but she insisted on speaking with the adult who was in the house.  I had to fetch Aunty Mary to intervene on my behalf.  She knew I was mortified. I was grateful that Mame did not feel it was necessary to drive it home with a big speech or disciplinary action.  I begged her not to tell my mother and if I recall correctly, I do believe she kept my confidence.  Needless to say I did not try that trick again!

Another time I was practicing for a role I had been asked to perform in church the coming Sunday.  I was going to be lighting a candle and I had been asked to practice at home.  Now, I’m sure the intention was that I would practice with an adult present.  I had seen fit to do that initially; but after some practice I thought I could handle it on my own.  So, with my trusting younger brother in tow, I practiced lighting candles.  Then I thought it would be interesting to try lighting paper and see what happened.  I tried it a couple of times and was able to blow it out before the flames grew too large.  On the third try, however, I waited longer and couldn’t blow it out.  Luckily we were in the kitchen and I doused the piece of paper with some water.  I tossed the whole mess in the garbage and thought no one would be the wiser.  Unfortunately the smell and the charred paper caught Aunty Mary’s attention and this time she did think my parents needed to be informed.  I could understand her informing on me and my brother and we made up a ‘clever’ story so neither one of us got in as much trouble as we might have if we (I) had gone it alone.  My baby bro is awesome!

There is one other time I recall when I was not proud of my behaviour toward Aunty Mary.  I was really mad at her.  Really, really mad at her.  And I wrote some swear words on a piece of paper and handed the paper to her and ran away.  I had written F*** OFF!  I don’t remember how she handled it exactly but I have no doubt it was with the grace that followed her wherever she went. 

Mary Smith Payne was from Glasgow, Scotland, and she had something of the fairy about her.  She never quite seemed like she had both feet on the ground.  She saw the world and the people in it in a slightly different light.  As a child, I found this a wonderful novelty compared to most of the grown ups I knew.  A habit of hers which endeared her to me was she would regularly have treats in her purse that she shared with my brother and me.  She also had an assortment of fantastic clothes at her apartment that were amazing for playing dress up.  After late nights of babysitting us she would often sleep over at our house and, as a young girl, I would go up in the morning to cuddle with her.  She would inevitably get out of bed at some point (knowing what was to come) and I would slide into her ‘warm spot’.  She would make a tremendous fuss about me stealing her spot in the bed and I would giggle myself silly. 

When she got sick as she aged, it broke my heart.  Her personality changed.  She became suspicious and aggressive.  She would swear.  It was difficult to watch her become someone so foreign to whom she had been during the rest of her life.  I would visit her and I think she knew who I was most of the time, even if she couldn’t articulate it.  When she didn’t know who I was, she would have a look on her face as though she thought she should know who I was.  Our visits weren’t particularly interesting.  I always felt awkward because I didn’t know what to do or say.  But I’m glad I went to visit.  She gave so much to us, it was the least I could do for her. 

She could still astound me, however.  I remember picking her up from the locked ward of the residence where she lived to take her to my cousin’s wedding.  I was about three months pregnant with my first child.  I felt physically horrible but I don’t think I was showing yet.  We certainly hadn’t told anyone I was expecting.  Darned if we didn’t get into my car and she asked me when the baby was due!  I couldn’t believe it!  Here was this woman whom we all thought was completely gone and she was still so aware of some things.  I was grateful she knew I was having a baby.  She loved babies.  She died three months before my daughter was born. 

I’m sure my parents or other grown ups would have other opinions about Aunty Mary.  And they would be equally valid.  But my opinions are mine based on my experience.  She gave me such great memories from my childhood, and my memory is not that great, so the fact I can remember so much about her influence on my life is important to me.  As I have alluded to, she did the lion’s share of our babysitting.  We were very fortunate in that regard.  I’m sure as I got older I would have preferred someone younger and ‘more fun’ but she was such a presence in our lives and we were blessed to have her.  I would wish for someone like Mame in every child’s life.  Someone who really did show unconditional love in a way that made so much sense to a child.