Aunt Harriett

"Love incarnate." That is what I said to the nurses at English Oaks about my Aunt Harriett, your mother. She was that, she is that and she and your father will forever remain the embodiment of Love for all of us.

My beloved aunt, my third mother--actually ex aequo with Aunt Lorraine if the truth be told.

"Hello, Sweetie." A greeting that I am still hearing as I write this. You are the only person in the world who ever called me "Babe" and you also sometimes addressed me as "Baby" even when I was in my 40s and you in your 80s. "Hello, Babe," you used to say and with those words you warmed my heart because they told me that you loved me and they reminded me always that you had known me since I was just that -- a babe. When my mother and then Aunt Lorraine died, you were the only one to hold my history and my stories of our and my family in your heart. You knew it all. My mother's story, her heart's joy and the heartbreaks from which she never recovered beginning with the death of her beloved husband, John McGowan, when she was only 26 and Beth only 2; Beth's story -- Mary Beth, who was born on your 20th birthday and was not only my mother's special girl but yours, too. Beth whom you and Uncle Jack loved and took care of and probably spoiled rotten when Mary had to work; Beth, the little girl with a cello. You knew the story of my parents and me, and so much more. The fun and funny parts; the heart-wrenching times we had in the Adams family. No one else in this world knew the full story except you. We did not have to dredge it all up and discuss it, only occasionally; you just knew and that was enough for me because with a smile you conveyed your compassion -- and truly you did suffer with and for us -- and your abiding and unconditional love for me, Christie, Chrissy, Chris. Like my mother and Aunt Lorraine, you understood all of the parts of my soul -- even the not-so-very-nice parts -- and you loved me anyway and for always. With your passing to the other side of the Veil to be, I truly believe, reunited with those you have loved who have preceded you, I am left to be the keeper of my own soul and of all of the stories I know. Including of course Little Women and Anne of Green Gables!

And now I hear you saying as you so often did, "Yeah, right." Well, Aunt Harriett, I am. I am writing for your children and your grandchildren and your great grandchildren all of the things I want to say to them about you and Uncle Jack and how you shaped my life and my heart; the lessons you taught me that even my own parents and Aunt Lorraine could not; the fun we had and the heartaches we shared.

I am going to write it all down -- or at least what I can --

I am going to write about your legacy. Your legacy that is Love.

And so I begin.

***

When Linda and I were holding your hands on Tuesday, I asked her if she knew about the picture you sent Beth and me in the 1990s -- or was it Sharon I asked? Whoever it was did not know of this framed quotation. You sent it only to Beth and me, I now know. Here is what I think. I think you thought your own children knew and lived this well -- ah, the Savage clan -- but that both Beth and I needed this message from you. It reads:

"Our family is a circle of strength and love. With every birth and every union, the circle grows. Every joy shared adds more love. Every challenge faced together, makes the circle stronger."

Oh, and Aunt Harriett. You are so right. So right.

Our family. That is what you wanted your nieces to know. That this is our family, too. I am so grateful, everlastingly grateful that you and Uncle Jack and your children and grandchildren and great grandchildren epitomized this circle and that you have always made sure that I have been a part -- and despite the miles and the years, never apart -- from our family.


***

"Sweet Harriett." That is what my mother, Mary, used to call you when she spoke of you. Your sister, four years older than you, who once ripped the roof of your mouth when you were a little girl with, if I recall correctly, one of grandma's crochet hooks. You went on loving her. My mother, that is. You were Aunt Lorraine's favorite sister, ten years her junior. Despite her actions as a little girl, my mother loved you, too. "Sweet Harriett." But in the family of four girls the pairing was really Lorraine and Harriett, Mary and Carol.

It can be said that your sisters were very loving women, but in their own ways. Aunt Lorraine loved beyond measure but was the least demonstrative of all of you; she was after all the Chairman of the Board. I knew Aunt Carol really only slightly but she had probably the best sense of humor of all of you (and that is saying something!) and she constantly wrote letters with funny stories for her sisters when her life was not so funny. My mother. Well, my mother -- how to describe my mother? She had a sweetness of her own but not like yours, Aunt Harriett. Not like yours. Because of her life and the ways in which her heart had broken, there were places in my mother's heart that could not be mended, that could never fully heal. Like the cup in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, once broken, it was never quite the same again. Your heart, Aunt Harriett, remained sweet and loving, always loving toward all you loved.

Harriett. Sweet Heart.

(My mother rarely used terms of endearment with me. She called me by my name most of the time and when she did use endearments it was "dear" or "dear heart." I have recently realized that your mother taught my sister, who calls her husband, her children, her grandchildren and me "sweetheart" or "sweetie" -- just like your mom did all of us -- this lovely form of endearment.

Aunt Harriett and I used to call each other "My dearie dear.")

I recalled the other day the photo that I have of you, my dearie dear, that I believe is your high school graduation picture. (And as I said the other day, when the Wagoner family had a little bit of money they either got their pictures taken or went on a trip!) In the bottom right hand corner, you wrote, "Love, Harriett." Just that simple. I always think of you this way with respect to each of your sisters. Love. Harriett.

***

Aunt Harriett was always the sister who came to visit and to care for her sisters. She kept in touch with all three of them and used to get a little annoyed with Lorraine who never or rarely called her. But she kept calling Lorraine and coming to the East coast to visit all of us.

"Harriett is coming!"

Sometimes Aunt Harriett stayed with us but most often with Aunt Lorraine. Uncle Jack stayed with Lorraine, too.

One time when she was visiting us, there was a Mary Cassatt exhibit at the National Gallery of Art. When I got home from school, there she was, Aunt Harriett, with a poster for me. She said, "This is you":Indeed. That was me.

***

Back now to 1968. Forty years ago this year. My parents were going to be traveling and they asked Aunt Harriett and Uncle Jack to welcome me in your home, dear cousins, for three months. We have all often wondered, I think, what the real reason for that was. My mother always said that she wanted me to have the experience of living with family where there were other children. In other words so that I would not always be an only child and behave like one! But now I think I understand another, perhaps much more important reason for my stay in Livermore. (Of which JoAnne and Larry and I all share memories! I WAS spoiled! I WAS an only child! (or at least growing up that way since Beth was gone); I WAS a pain! It was during this time, however, that I learned how good orange juice is when made in the blender and the distinct advantage of leaving butter out as opposed to putting it back in the refrigerator all the time. So much easier to butter toast in the morning. When I got home that was my special request. Henceforth the butter stayed on top of the refrigerator at our house, too.)

In my parents' will at that time -- and they both traveled a lot because of my father's position -- my mom and dad had named your parents as my legal guardians in case anything happened to them. Not my sister, not Aunt Lorraine and Uncle John, whom I knew much better and to whom at that time I was much closer. No. In the event of my parents' death, they would have entrusted their child to Harriett and Jack. There is no higher praise, no higher, greater trust than this. My father, by the way, who was known as "Iron John" loved your parents. Of my mother's sisters Harriett was his favorite. 'tis true. I have that on good authority. His own.

And speaking of "Iron John" I want to say something about your father. It is this. Your dad, Uncle Jack to me, is one of the kindest, dearest men I have ever known, although as you all know screaming during rides at Disneyland and tickling were verboten! He was like but very different from my own beloved father in many ways. Both men loved their children and their families. But your father expressed this love always with a sweetness that lightened my step and my heart. My father was -- maybe because he was from Pittsburgh! but not really -- it was because of his own life and his own father dying when he was just 14 -- "steely." Iron John. Uncle John was called "Hollywood John." Jack was Jack.

My father used to admonish me: Be kind, Chris. Neither he nor I have always been kind. Irish/German tempers and temperament combined with the Wagoner stubbornness, you know. But your father demonstrated the kind of kindness my dad wanted me to have and to show to others. Never an unkind word. Words said always with love. Dearest Uncle Jack, thank you for this.

But I digress -- in a way but not really. Back now to the story of why you, dear cousins, had to put up with me in 1968.

I now believe that it was true that they were traveling a lot that fall of 1968 but especially they wanted me to know the family where I would live and grow up if anything ever happened to them. Yes, my dears. My dearie dears. That was the real reason.

Then when my mother, Aunt Lorraine and my dad were "gone from my sight" it became reality. Some 32 years later, I knew that I had a place and people to "come home to." And this is what I did earlier this year. I came of course to see and be with your mother but I also came because I needed to be with my family, just to sit with your mom and to be reminded of who I am, from the beginning. To "get my head on straight," as my father used to say. Being with you and especially with her this spring allowed me to do that.

On Tuesday she gave me another gift of love. The first thing she said to me after the "hellos" was -- and who knows why although I think I have an idea...a fanciful Irish idea of the whys and wherefores...

"You can change if you want to."

I do not believe she was speaking of my clothes although this puts me in mind of another story some of you know. In the Wagoner family there was a saying:

First up, best dressed.

That is because my mom used to get up and wear Aunt Lorraine's clothing that she altered, I presume with pins, for the day. They all dressed so beautifully always. But in those days when there was not very much money for the luxury of new clothing, Lorraine was already working and she could afford to buy new clothes that my mom then appropriated! Ah, sisters.

***

Just as my own mother did two days before her death, your mother, Aunt Harriett, gave me a last and lasting gift.

You can change if you want to.

OK, Aunt Harriett. I got the message.

***

Forty years later, I say thank you to all of you because I feel like more than a cousin in this Savage family. More than a cousin and for this, I can never adequately or eloquently express my abiding gratitude to your mother and father and to you, my cousin/sibs! This is, among other things, what I said to your mother on Tuesday. That I can never, never thank her enough for loving me and taking care of me and that I hold her and Uncle Jack in my heart forever.

I thank you, my dear cousins, for honoring me by allowing me to be present with you by your mother's side during her last days. It has been my privilege and a gift from God to care for my own mother during her lifetime and during her last illness, to care for Aunt Lorraine and for your mother also at this time of their passing. My three "mothers" whom I love with all of my soul and heart. A gift from God but also from you. I cannot begin to express the feelings that lie in the depths of my soul.

But this I can express and share with you. Never in all of the leave-takings of my beloved friends and family have I been filled with the sense of peace I have now.

Never.

Thank you, again, Aunt Harriett, for leaving me and I hope all of us with this peace. "Be at Peace," said the prayer on your refrigerator. The prayer I kept praying when my mother was dying. You, dear Harriett, I believe, know the "peace that passeth all understanding" now and I feel peace enfolding me as never before has happened.

May it be so for you, dear cousins, your children and your children's children also.

I also want to say something I said about my own father at his remembrance service. I said he, like the rest of us, had imperfections. We are not -- not one of us -- perfect, not nearly perfect! But we all strive to be the best we can be. Because of our love for each other, we forgive one another for our failings and our frailties.

***

When Linda came home the other night after your mother's passing, I remembered being in Prairie Village when grandma died. I have memories of seeing her in her hospital bed. You remember that she lived with us in Pittsburgh, I think. But I was most particularly thinking about what the Wagoner sisters must have done after she died. They must have gathered around Aunt Carol's kitchen table and talked. They probably did not cry, although your mother may have; perhaps Aunt Carol did as well. Not Aunt Lorraine. Not my mother for sure. They did not cry.

I thought the other morning of them in mourning. It was, I believe, 1961. Lorraine was 51 (my age now), my mother 45 and your mother 41; Aunt Carol must have been 47.

And here we are. In California. The same rituals. The same family. The love that reaches down and flows through us from generation to generation.

***

There are many more stories that I could tell. But I think I will end this tribute to your mother here with two of my favorite poems especially for you.

First this by Christina Rossetti:

Remember

Remember me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell me of our future that you planned:

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.

5

10

And this from Diary of an Old Soul by George MacDonald:

Care thou for mine whom I must leave behind;

Care that they know who 'tis for them takes care;

Thy present patience help them still to bear;

Lord, keep them clearing, growing, heart and mind;

In one thy oneness us together bind;

Last earthly prayer with which to thee I cling--

Grant that, save love, we owe not anything.