The other aunt

I recently wrote a column on my Aunt Voe. I am writing this column on my Aunt Lorena, just to show how important family is to help younger members grow up.

I was born in a farmhouse on Four Mile Creek, just out of Palouse. My parents and siblings had arrived just months before from Minneapolis.

My Aunt Lorena, my dad’s youngest sister, just happened to be at the house when delivery was imminent.

My father had gone to town to get Dr. Dart, the family doctor, but I guess I decided to enter this world without Dart.

The fact that Aunt Lorena did the delivery created a special bond between us that lasted until her death.

My aunt lived in the university area in Seattle while I was living in Bothell.

She started college when she was 44, receiving her bachelor’s and master’s degrees from the University of Washington.

She joined the faculty at the UW School of Medicine and taught there for a number of years before going into private practice in psychiatry.

Aunt Lorena mastered everything she touched. Many members of the family ended up with quilts she made.

My wife and I were frequently invited to her very small house in Seattle for dinner. I never turned her down. She was a famous cook and prepared the best of meals.

She would call and invite us to go out to dinner simply stating that she had found a great restaurant. We were never disappointed, and would often return on our own.

I think she felt the same bond towards me as I felt towards her.

Her influence had a lot to do with my decision to quit my job and go on to college, even though I already had started my family and had two small children.

She always made an attempt to keep tabs on me, just short however, of meddling.

After college, I settled in Bothell and the closeness continued.

She was wise and always lifted members of the family up.  There was no doubt that I was her favorite, and was the recipient of love, care and sometimes gifts, including two of the quilts she made.

She retired from private practice and along with her son purchased a farm 13 miles out of Moses Lake.

We were often guests at the farm, enjoying visits and a good farm meal.

I learned from her that family is everything, and nothing replaces the bond of family members.

It was a sad day when she passed on. I didn’t realize how much I had become accustomed to her counsel and, yes, friendship.

I have tried to live on under her cloak of fondness for family.

She loved to tell the story of my first cry after being born. 

Much later, I was able to visit the farm area where I was born, even though the old farmhouse was gone.

I guess that is why I have always considered that I have farm blood in my veins.