Yesterday was a day filled with family.  Well, filled with Aunts anyway.   Husband I spent the morning helping his 94 year old Aunt put her apartment back together.  She’d had to empty her kitchen and bathroom so that the building management could have all the apartments sprayed for bugs.  Of course being the independent soul that she is, she didn’t tell us this was happening, and spent part of each day unloading drawers and cupboards on her own for several days until we accidentally happened to find out.  She was totally exhausted, to the point of near collapse, by the time we arrived to help finish the process.

They sprayed on Friday so yesterday morning my husband and I, armed with buckets, cleaning supplies and garbage bags descended on her home.  She was supposed to have gone back to her apartment Friday evening, gone to bed and not lifted a finger until we arrived Saturday morning.  We were so foolish to think she’d follow those directions.  When we got there at our appointed hour, ten a.m., she had already put her bathroom together, and announced she had cleaned it and her kitchen so we didn’t have to.  She was visibly tired already.  Sigh.  Her eyesight is going, and we could determine that though she might have “cleaned” there was much left to do.  The problem was getting it done while making sure she didn’t overdo.  Repeatedly we told her to sit down and just tell us where things went, but of course she was popping up out of her chair all morning.

She and we had agreed that before we put anything back in a cupboard she would determine if she used it or if she could get rid of it.  Given that she doesn’t cook anymore we anticipated taking a lot of kitchen stuff away, freeing her cupboards of clutter.  But each piece held a memory of a meal with a family member or a friend, most deceased now.  Each pot or pan, cup or bowl was a tie to someone she loved.  Fairly quickly my husband and I realized that it was important for us to listen to the stories, not to pressure her to give up too much.  And though she let go of several pots and pans and a few plates, in the end she kept most of her treasures, because they give her comfort.  They sit now gleaming, newly washed, lovingly put away in tidy cupboards, waiting to be used again, waiting to provide that little window on the past for her to gaze through, whenever she wants.

She had a special spoon rest that a cousin had given her many years ago.  She said to me “I never use this anymore, but I can’t give it away,” as she hugged it to her.  I said that was OK, everyone needs a spoon rest and let it go.  But just before we left she silently held it out to me, tears in her eyes, and as I slipped it into my purse I told her I’d put it on my stove, give it a good home.  She nodded mutely and I knew then what it must feel like to begin to disassemble your own life.

Later that afternoon my husband and I drove down to Ann Arbor for diner cooked by my 75 year old Aunt and a concert by the University of Michigan bands at Hill auditorium.  The meal was lovely as it always is and we listened to her travel plans, several major trips in the next few months, and stories of her children who are coming home for the holidays.

The concert was lots of fun for me, who used to play in a band in high school, and later as an adult in a community band.  I miss it, and realize just how much, when I sit in the audience and listen to talented young people play their hearts out.  Speaking of hearts…mine skipped a few beats when after  intermission  the University of Michigan marching band raced down the aisles and up onto the stage.  The sound was huge and pulsating, and their halftime show renditions of music we all know literally (almost) blew us away.   Three hundred and fifty musicians up on the intimate stage of an auditorium that seats 3600 and is acoustically renown.  Think about it if you dare!

It was a long day, a satisfying day, one filled with life and memories and stories, laughs and tears, and a bit of music to sooth (or jolt!) the soul.  A good day.  Can’t believe how lucky I am because I get to experience it all.