Poetry: Last Visit with Great Aunt Helen

Last visit with Great Aunt Helen

© 2011 by Debbie Dunn

Introduction: My maternal grandfather died of Alzheimer's. Did his sister die of that as well? Now my mother has been diagnosed with the early stages of Alzheimer's. Using the medium of free-style free verse will help me and others address this very scary topic.

Composed on March 29, 2011

I took my friend to meet my Great Aunt Helen.

So proud for the two of them to meet.

For years, I bragged about this aunt

who wrote me wonderful letters

where she addressed every statement

and question from the letters I wrote to her.

She was one of my greatest advocates

and cheerleaders.

She was a woman whom I dearly loved.

Can you imagine my chagrin

when I introduced these two

to find her so changed,

so foreign to the woman

I had grown to cherish and love?

She talked a mile a minute,

almost as if she feared

that if she dared pause or stop,

her words would be lost,

never to be found again.

Perhaps this is retrospect

that gave me this insight,

for at that time,

I knew not her older brother,

my maternal grandfather

was later to be diagnosed with

and die of Alzheimer's.

It was not until later

I wondered whether

this is what she later died of as well.

My friend kept looking at me askance.

I'm certain he wondered about

how she fit not at all

my original description.

We muddled through the visit.

Took a few pictures.

My last ever to have of her

as she lived in California

and I lived in Tennessee.

Then we went to the public dining hall

to share a meal.

The vision that I never will

be able to shake

is seeing her one moment

eating, smiling, chatting.

The next moment,

her eyes rolled back in her head,

she slumped over.

Drool pooled at both sides of her mouth.

I felt sure she was dying

or already dead.

I called her name again and again:

"Aunt Helen, are you all right?

Aunt Helen? Aunt Helen!"

My voice frantic and raised

and slightly crazed.

I don't recall if it was I

or my friend who ran for help.

Or did we not have time

for such rational reaction?

For suddenly, she came to.

Her eyes resumed their normal position.

Her mouth closed.

I suppose she eventually

used a napkin to pat the drool away.

She looked at me

with huge question marks

in her eyes

to see me crouched at her side.

She had no memory

of time standing still.

She saw no disconnect,

was seemingly unaware

of anything odd occurring.

Once I knew she was okay,

I had to excuse myself

to cry in the bathroom

to release my stressed emotions.

I'm sure my friend

felt abandoned and awkward

left alone with my revived aunt.

Later, the next day,

I called the manager

of this retirement community

to report what had happened.

I requested they keep

a vigilant eye on my dear aunt

so that such a thing

would not occur again.

A few days later,

I received an irate phone call

from my beloved Aunt Helen.

"How dare you interfere

in my life like that!"

or similar words

with that flavor

and meaning.

We had very little contact

after that.

She rarely returned a letter.

I finally gave up trying

to reinitiate a relationship

that had once been so close.

A few years passed.

I then received a congratulatory card

about having a daughter.

This was very strange

as I had never been pregnant

and had no children at all.

I was a woman

content to be

the proud aunt but not a Mom.

Not long after,

there came a day,

that I tried

to make contact again

to this woman I once held so dear.

I received a letter back

from a friend of hers.

She informed me that my dear

Aunt Helen had died.

Her brother was already dead

by this time.

Perhaps we never would have been told

if I had not received the impulse

to touch base with her.

In this way only

did her friend finally

have a means to make contact

with her only niece - my mother.

Her only son had died

when I was very young.

By the time I learned of this news

of the death of my beloved aunt,

it was almost as if

I began grieving for her death

all those years before.

So that is the tale

of my dear Aunt Helen

and that uncomfortable

last visit of long ago.