Eccentric's Heir

My aunt Ann was one of those odd people you might call ‘eccentric.’  Her quirkiness ran the gamut of weird religious practices, natural home remedies, analyzing the purpose of life, and nonconformity to most norms.  She wasn’t the best in social situations, and her place at the table for Christmas dinner was usually between my mom and her youngest sister so that they could shush her if her ideas got too strange for company.  She never had a family of her own so she doted on me most of the time.

As a kid, I couldn’t get enough of her.  To me, she was fun and lighthearted. The gifts I received from her usually came with some wild story - like the necklace she made out of hemp cord and colorful stones (the stones were supposedly full of healing properties for different ailments), or the canvas shoes she painted in outrageously bright colors (the paint was supposedly made with special minerals, and when worn would promote healthy feet).  Her explanations never mattered much to me because in my small mind, her gifts were simply colorful and fun to wear.

As I got a little older, the amazement of her gifts started to wane.  In the seventh grade, the other kids were not so kind when I would show up wearing something out of the ordinary.  I made the mistake once of telling my friends that my aunt practiced Wicca. For the rest of the school year I was labeled a ‘witch’ and spent most of my lunch periods sitting alone in the cafeteria.  Another time, I explained how my aunt had told me that the energy forces of inanimate objects contributed to the balance of life. The kids in my class found it funny to throw balls of paper at me over that one while saying, “May the force be with you.”

By the time I got to high school I’d sworn off the weird and unusual, which meant that Aunt Ann’s gifts started to fill a box in the basement.  I no longer spent time with her during family gatherings, and even though I knew my distancing made her sad, I didn’t care. For my birthday one year, she gave me a pair of earrings that were supposedly made of glass with pieces of butterfly wings in them.  She said the glass came from a cave on Mount Everest, and that it helped the wearer think clearly. I didn’t even smile when I opened the box, and I didn’t dare put them on.  

When I grew up, I got my own apartment.  As a housewarming gift, my aunt gave me a dreamcatcher which I was supposed to hang above my bed so that it could capture my bad dreams.  I thought it was ugly and gaudy with its beads and feathers, so it found its way to the cardboard box in my parents basement that was filled with all of her other gifts.  A little later, she gave me a book on Feng Shui so that I could arrange my apartment in a manner that would bring harmony to my environment. I used the book to cram under the leg of my kitchen table to keep it from wobbling.

After a while, my aunt stopped giving me gifts.  I didn’t think much of it at first, but when I sent out invitations for my wedding, I noticed that I hadn’t received her RSVP.  I mentioned it to my mom, and she reminded me of the cardboard box in the basement and all the missed opportunities to tell my aunt “thank you.”  For the first time, I felt ashamed of my behavior, but I reminded myself that she would be at Christmas dinner that year, and that I could spend some time with her then.

On Christmas Eve I received a devastating phone call from my mom.  My aunt Ann had had a heart attack in the middle of the night that she didn’t recover from.  She was gone. I sat paralyzed for a while, reminiscing about my childhood with my favorite adult.  I recalled the years I had treated her so poorly when all she’d wanted to do was love me, and I realized that there was no way to undo my selfish actions.  I cried. I cried a lot.

We ate Christmas dinner in silence, and two days later we attended the funeral.  A reading of her Last Will and Testament was announced and I was required to attend.  We gathered at a lawyer’s office where we learned how my aunt’s estate was to be divided among the family.  The lawyer read a statement that Aunt Ann had prepared in advance. It was short and simple. “I’d like to thank my family for showing me so much love and support over the years.  I love you all so very much. Please donate 10% of my estate to The Red Cross. The other 90% goes to Bailey, my beloved niece.” Everyone in the room looked at me. I didn’t deserve her estate, but she’d left it to me anyways.  After all these years she was still loving me, even in death.

My mom held a dinner in remembrance of my aunt.  While I was at her house, I loaded the cardboard box filled with my aunt’s old gifts into my car.  I waited until I got home to open it.  

I sat on my bed and unpacked the box.  First came the dreamcatcher, which I hung above my bed.  Second were the earrings made of glass. I put them in my ears.  I took the painted shoes (that were now too small for me) and put them on a large teddy bear that sat in my room.  When I got to the necklace made of hemp cord with the colorful stones, I fastened it around my neck. At the bottom of the box was a glittery handmade birthday card Aunt Ann had given me for my seventh birthday.  Inside, in her own cursive handwriting, it read, “To the world you are one person, but to me you are the world.”

As my own daughter grows up, I’ve been passing down Aunt Ann’s gifts to her.  One by one, I share all the fascinating stories that accompany each gift. And even though I cannot undo the years of blatant disregard, the life-lesson I remind her of the most is to appreciate the love that comes her way regardless of the form it takes.  So with that in mind, love your family and be kind to your neighbors. For we are never promised tomorrow, and time waits for no man.