When I was growing up, it was this house--her's and Uncle's--that we came to when we were on furlough in the United States. Through my career years in parochial education I have often traveled to the denominational headquarters in Maryland for some meeting or committee. It just so happens that Auntie's house is a mile away, as the crow flies, from that building, so I stay with Auntie instead of in a hotel. I look forward to it.
I noticed early on that Auntie was not like my mom, although they had two great things in common: the love of my mom's brother, and a love of music. But there otherwise there were many differences. My mom was a doctor and Auntie was trained to be a secretary. My mom worked at the hospital and Auntie was a stay-at-home mom. My mom got her meals on a haphazard schedule due to delivering babies, while Auntie had made-from-scratch meals on the table for her family at the same times every day. My mom came home to us at whatever hour worked out, while my cousins came home to their mom in the view in the picture above: Auntie standing at the door looking out, waiting to welcome them.
My mom and my auntie have loved each other dearly through the years. My mom is the one who suggested that her brother get acquainted with Auntie, whom Mama had met in a choir. And then my mom heaved a sigh of relief--she has said this many times--when Uncle and Auntie's marriage revealed that they were indeed a good match and Mama wouldn't have to feel responsible for messing up her brother's life with her matchmaking.
I've just returned from Auntie's house yet again, where I left and returned from work each day to this heartwarming view of Auntie in the doorway. I rested in her love and warm conversation, laughed and hugged, and picked up a new story or two about the family history before me.
Auntie has been going through some boxes downstairs and had come across some letters that Mama had written back to the family "in the States" when I was 9-13 years old. I'd seen other letters, but these were new, and I stayed up until 1:30 one morning reading them. There were several surprises in the letters, but one of the biggest surprises for me, was seeing how much our happy existence in the mission field was actually a result of the support that Uncle and Auntie provided to us from Stateside. I'd had no clue. They sent medical instruments that my parents asked for in the letters, sent money for special projects, and regularly sent gifts to us for birthdays and Christmases. That last one I knew about, of course, but this time I read it through the eyes of an Auntie who did the work of finding gifts for 4 people twice a year, packaging them up, addressing them, and paying costly postage to send them halfway around the world to a country she had never visited.
Another surprise for me was reading my dad's letters to my uncle, which were included in this bunch of letters. I had never known that my dad relied on my uncle so much for answering questions about urology (Uncle's specialty), nor that my dad had been such good friends with my uncle and confided in him to the extent that I saw in those letters. The tone was warm and trusting, true friendship.
I also read in one of the letters that when Uncle heard my mom had her eye and heart on a Yamaha grand piano, he had sent Mama a huge check which bought us that piano. It resides now in my home; we got it when I was in 5th grade, I practiced on it for my British piano exams, the talent I developed on it became part of my personal identity, and I have loved that piano always. I hadn't realized--maybe I'd been told, but it didn't stick--that my uncle and auntie had provided us with that piano. My uncle passed away 6 years ago, and I wish I could go back and talk that over with him with more focus and gratitude.
Realizing the constancy and breadth of the care and support from my uncle and aunt has brought me some new thoughts. As I told Auntie over the breakfast the morning after reading the letters, I never knew the strength of their partnership with us as my parents gave their lives in mission service. I had thought we were on our own, this little insular foursome over there. But Auntie and Uncle were quiet missionaries right alongside us, all the way from their unassuming brick house in Maryland. Their support made my parents more effective in their medical work, gave my brother and me a connection to the U.S. that we needed in order to eventually transition to this country, and provided the books and music that enriched us immeasurably, growing up. I am so very grateful as I realize how these dear folk that I thought were "occasional," were in essence there right with us.
And I'm thankful that I got to share these thoughts with my 86-year old Auntie, with tears in my eyes, early one morning this week over oatmeal and toast in her little kitchen in that red brick house in Maryland.
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