Thank You Aunt Bea

My name is Jemma and I am a 23-year-old recent graduate from university. First, let me tell you that graduating during a pandemic and trying to find a job has not been fun, however, that is not the story I want tell. I am going to tell you a story about my Aunt Beatrice, who was enduringly called Bea. My Aunt was a vivacious, beautiful woman. She was the type of person that people say is beautiful inside and out. Everywhere she went people wanted to get to know her because she brought such positivity, fun and happiness. I remember as a young girl walking down the street and she floated. The sun envied her radiance as she was so bright and shined. My mother once told me that she wished she could bottle the beauty that was my Aunt and sprinkle it when needed in life, especially when life got hard.

Unfortunately, my Aunt passed away, almost 4 years now. It was just her time. I often talk to her and ask her what she would do in a situation, hoping that she would answer, because I know she would bring me to the place I needed to be. I thought that nothing got my Aunt down. I figured if I could get in her head it must have been like the story of Cinderella when she was working with the birds and mice to make her blue, sparkle ball gown. I really miss her. She was always a constant fixture in my life growing up. So back to my graduation. My father handed me an envelope after the ceremony. It was a letter from my Aunt. She had left me $20,000 as a graduation gift in her will. She wrote she wished she could have been physically present at my big day to celebrate with me and this letter and her financial endorsement was her way of showing me how proud she was of me. I also found out that she left me her condo in the city. She thought it would be a good place for me to stay after graduation while I figure out my next steps. My Aunt always knew what I needed, and she was 5 steps ahead of me. I was truly grateful for the money as it would help me financially, especially with my student loans which needed to be repaid.

I have not been to my Aunt’s condo in years. I learned that after she died my parents were too sad to go back there and sort through her things. They knew it would be mine one day and thought that I would enjoy learning more about my Aunt by going through her things. I talked to my parents and decided to head to the condo for the weekend to start with the sorting. My parents agreed to come the following weekend to help me with taking boxes to charities and my dad would look at ensuring everything was in working order. So, I packed up my bedroom at home and grabbed all the cleaning supplies I could so I could start on my next adventure, finding a new job. Cecilia my cat was curled up in her travel case as we left my parents’ house. I had my Aunt’s key chain, a cat of course with a heart. Cecilia, now my cat, once belonged to my Aunt. She was the first gift I received from my Aunt when she passed. She has been my faithful companion for the last 4 years.

The drive was a few hours and it was uneventful. I arrived at the condo and parked in the visitor parking, grabbed Cecilia and headed into the building. The building itself was not very tall. It always had a 70ies vibe with some swirling brick as part of its architecture and orange detailing. I often visited my Aunt as a child during my vacation time, so I was quite familiar with the building. As a I reached the condo, I pushed the key into the lock and opened the door and I felt the wave of familiarity hit me. My Aunt would be sitting in her chair by the window with Cecilia curled up in her lap. I smiled, as it was almost like she was really here. As I moved further into the condo, I swear I could smell her perfume. The curtains were open, light was streaming into the apartment; the condo always felt so warm and welcoming, like it was home. Now it was my home. I set Cecilia down and unzipped her travel case and she immediately jumped out. She remembered the placed. She headed for her perch by the window. The place was certainly dusty, it needed a good cleaning. So, I made a few trips to my car and gathered up my things so I could start putting things in shape. My mother had given me a few things to put in the fridge so I would not need to go shopping right away for food. After that I decided I wanted to just absorb the space and think about my Aunt for a bit before I began. I knew I missed my Aunt, but being here makes me miss her even more. I understand why my parents had decided to not return. I guess I never thought about it before, but they must really miss her too. Returning here to her space would have been a pinch to their heart.

My Aunt is my father’s sister. The two were the youngest of 5 siblings. There parents had died when they were young, and they were placed into an orphanage. There other siblings were teenagers so they could not take care of them as they were just learning to take care of themselves. So, my Aunt and my dad only had each other. Life was not easy in the orphanage. My father had a learning disability and he was punished when he did not get grades in school. So, my Aunt being a few years older did her best to try and help my dad. But back in the day, the system did not recognize learning disabilities. My dad ended up joining the military and when he finally did graduate from high school my Aunt moved to the city to find a job. The two of them were always in connected. I know my dad wrote letters when he was posted and when they were close enough, they always made sure to connect. When she was diagnosed with cancer my dad ensured he was there for her.

I was still reminiscing about my Aunt when I pulled open the door on the end table and grabbed a handful of papers to see what my Aunt had kept. My chest was tight, and my eyes were beginning to tear up. Cecilia knew I was upset, and she jumped up beside me. I put the papers down on my lap and a little black book slid from my lap to the floor. I moved the old receipts, pictures and papers from my lap and bent down to pick up the book. It was opened on a date in May some 20 years ago. I began reading the words. My Aunt had just returned from a visit with my parents. I was still a toddler. My Aunt had only spent a few days, she had come to give my parents a break and looked after me. I loved seeing my Aunt’s script as it danced across the page just like my Aunt danced when she was alive. I finished the entry and smiled. I quickly flipped through the pages and saw that my Aunt had written consistently, dating each page and vividly describing her life. This was just one year. I wondered if she had more. So, I started pulling out drawers, looking on the bookshelves, searching her closet and in the end, I found volumes of little black books. They were all the same. I sorted the books by year and made myself some tea. Cleaning could wait. I spend hours that day going through the entries in my Aunt’s journals.

I learned so much more about her. I learned how she struggled and although she was always presenting a very positive image she struggled with depression. She began journaling to help. When she as young depression was not something that was really diagnosed and she knew she always liked to write so she decided she was going to write down her thoughts, the good, the bad and the ugly as part of her healing. The entries showed what a strong and authentic woman my Aunt had been. Some of the entries made me cry especially when she wrote about feeling lonely and missing my dad when he was away from her. I read about her loves lost, her interesting career in the business world and the obstacles she faced because she was a woman, well a pretty woman. I think about the things she went through so I could have a better life. These little black books were the best treasure that my Aunt could have ever given me. So, I put them in my new bedroom on the bookshelf and I knew I could pull any book out to connect with my Aunt when I was struggling.

The next weekend my parents arrived, and the condo was clean and organized. I asked my father about my Aunt’s journaling. He smiled and told me that he knew that those little black books were a place where my Aunt got solitude and made sense of her life. My parents knew my Aunt used the little black books as a tool to help with her depression. I was surprised they knew, and they never talked to me about it, but I guess they thought I was just a kid and it was not a need to know. At the end of their visit my mother handed me a nicely wrapped gift. I smiled when I opened it and found my parents have given my own little black book to start journaling my own adventures. I am going to start my first entry by telling the story of my beautiful Aunt Bea.