Where did my infant go?

I Hate Good-Byes

My aunt Janice died last week. It was unexpected, and it hurt deeply. She was 67-years-old and lived her entire life under the care of others.
Starting at three-years-old she became sick with a fever of 105 that her parents were unable to break. My grandparents were very poor, and in those days going to the doctor was not easy because the closest one was an hour away, plus there was no money to pay him when you did get there. The fever caused mild retardation, and by the time she was seven another high fever caused even more damage.
My dad is one of her four older siblings, and there were six more children to follow.
Perhaps if my family had lived in another time or place things would have been very different. But things being as they were, my grandparents made the best they could out of the situation. My grandfather died young in 1960, and Janny (which is what her brothers and sisters called her, as did the rest of the family) lived with my Granny until the time of her death in 1990. My youngest aunt and uncle were given charge over Janny's care after that. My granny had no money herself and there was not enough left after her death to provide much for Janny. The financial burden of having Janny in a facility that could best care for her needs became too much and the family was forced to turn her over to the state many years ago.

So her life has never been easy. But she was a lovely, sweet soul who loved Jesus and had only one goal, and that was to be with her Mama and Daddy again in heaven.

Her mental capacity didn't hinder her ability to remember things, or to find joy in everyday life. She loved music and dolls. She loved her family. A part of her wanted to be married and have a life of her own. She had a child-like simplicity about her, though. She was always in love with someone or mad at someone whom she knew through Easter Seals and would always have me write a letter to them. She would tell me the same stories over and over again (which is a habit even the healthiest minds in our family has, even myself). She had a darkness about her too. She would get angry easily, and fight like a wildcat. I can remember an incident in which she ran away from home and my dad had to get her and bring her back. She hit him in the face pretty hard, but he managed to get her home.

When she was first placed into a nursing home after my Granny died, I checked her out once and took her to see Granny's grave. I was about 22 at the time, and we talked for hours and it was the most lucid I have ever known her to be. There were moments during that outing that I forgot she was handicapped.

As I got older and started trying to have a life for myself I wasn't there for her. I got busy with my own pains and struggles and forgot about hers. When she because a ward of the state she was moved to a facility that was over an hour away. I never once made that drive. I came up with lots of excuses as to why I couldn't. As soon as I heard of her death, I immediately started hating myself for those excuses.

You see, I don't like change. I don't handle it well at all. I just pretend that as long as I don't have to see things change, then time will stay just as it always has been. Her older brother, Joe Thomas, died four years ago, and I didn't handle that very well either. He lived in Indiana and I never saw him much during the years after my Granny died. I loved him. I miss him. I vowed at his death that I wouldn't waste time. I didn't keep that vow.

I sat through my aunt's funeral sobbing for time lost. Sobbing for all those memories that I hold dear. I vowed I would do better.  I promised to let the people in my life know what they mean to me. I went to all my remaining aunts and uncles and told them that I loved them. Then I went home to my little shell where it is safe and time does not move.

I haven't moved since.

Love you Janny,