Sometimes strangers become your family, and your family become strangers.

An hour of memories. And those memories are not so beautiful. A sister of my mother, an aunt to me. But still my memories of her are not so beautiful. What I remember are rather painful memories. Starting when I was about 8 years old. My niece and I had a childish quarrel, and where it is normally said that children should fight it out among themselves, my aunt decided to get involved. That turned out pretty negative, not even for my niece, but for my mother and me. My aunt started to lash out furious at my mother, which scared my mother blankly, and she started to cry. She did not know what to do with her sister's anger. I was at a loss for my mother's grief and felt terribly guilty. The quarrel with my niece was made up with many excuses from our side, but I had lost all confidence in my aunt at that time.

The second incident

The next conscious memory is about 6 or 7 years later. Because of my mother's illness, she was mentally so heavily burdened that she literally collapsed at that moment. She was severely overwrought, and then it is not easy to have 2 pubescent daughters at home, 1 quite hefty. Yes, I must admit, I was a fierce teenager for my mother. When my mother really couldn't handle the household next to her teenager daughters, her two sisters came to help clean the house.

I must have been about 14 years old at the time of this memory. A teenager / adolescent who rebels against rules and is very fond of her privacy. I thought it was fine that my aunts came to clean the house. But they had to stay away from my bedroom. I had clearly stated that. I cleaned my own bedroom, and did not want them to enter 'my domain'. Needless to say, they did. And not only that, but they also left a message for me. In the wafer-thin layer of dust on the lid of the record player of my stereo set, she had written with her fingers: “I am a dirty child, it is my fault that my mother is burnt out!¨. I was furious, but also deeply hurt. It took me weeks before I dared to tell my mother what her sister had done. Yes, I know her two sisters came to help. But I was also 100% sure that it was that one sister who had left this message. She had told it herself that she had left me that message. My mother was shocked by what had happened, assured me that it was not my fault that she had become burnt out, and impressed upon me that there was nothing I could do about it. Still, it took me a long time to believe that.

My aunt and I just didn't get along!

After that second incident, I think it's clear to you. My aunt and I didn't get along, and after these incidents, that wasn't going to change any time soon. Luckily, I didn't see them that much. When I knew she was coming to visit my mother, I always made sure I was away from home. When I couldn't leave, I treated her with polite respect. This went fine for years. But the last incident had not happened yet. That last incident came at the time when we had to say goodbye to my mother.

The last, and most painful memory

The night, the nursing home called to say we had to come and say goodbye to Mom. That she wasn't doing well and that they wanted to put her to sleep, so she could die. The panic Mom had, afraid she'd suffocate, afraid she wouldn't wake up. The fear she now had of living with pain and limitations, but at the same time also the fear of death that lay in wait. My sister and I did what we could to reassure her, to help her. And yes, we also called the family that Mom was living her last moments. She really wanted that. Mom had fought her battle, it was her time to go to Dad.

Mom proved once again that a death struggle isn't always easy. Where dad had just slept away peacefully, mom didn't. She continued to fight, and we watched over her for three days and two nights. Made sure we were always around, that she wouldn't be alone. She was afraid of that. And finally on Friday morning, April 13, 2007, my sister and I had to make a decision. Mom had been given extra oxygen for almost two years and also in her last days she was given that oxygen via the device, which was now a familiar hum in the background for us. The nurses came to my sister and me to tell us Mom was really dying by now and any minute the oxygen machine would be on to keep her oxygenated would actually only prolong her suffering. The choice was now ours, and I can tell you it's a damn hard choice if you've ever had or are going to have to deal with this. But as hard as it was, my sister and I had to make a choice. And because we loved and love Mom, because we certainly didn't want to prolong her suffering, we chose to say the oxygen machine would be turned off.

What we never expected, however, was that all of a sudden that aunt would jump up and yell at us: "You are killing our sister!".

My sister and I were dumbfounded. There we sat, full of grief over the loss of our mother. And now we were accused of murdering our mother!

Of course, I can understand that she was also emotional and felt the pain of losing her sister. Yes, I understand emotions very well. But even in such intense emotions, accusing two children who don't want to see their mother suffer from killing their mother is going TOO far.

That was the last incident with this aunt that clearly stuck with me. For the simple reason that after our mother's death and funeral, I may have seen her 2 or 3 more times.

Why now a blog about her?

I haven't seen or heard from her in the last 10 years or so. Why then this blog? Last night, my sister called me unexpectedly, and she told me that our cousin had just called her to tell her that their mother had passed away. She apparently fell on New Year's Eve, ended up in the hospital and died of her injuries there.

I didn't have the best memories of her, not at all. But I wouldn't have wished her to end this way! Despite my not too good memories, I hope she may rest in peace, and I will light a candle for her tonight.