The End of the Affair

Yesterday afternoon my aunt died. I received word while I was at work via email. It was unexpected but as she is well into her 90's, understandable. She had a small stroke and when they went to check her later, she had passed away.

It was quick and probably without much pain.

When I found out, I was busy. It really didn't hit me until today. There was a passing thought about a table I once had at a former apartment years ago. I believe my brother may have it now. I abandoned it in a storage unit before I went to Europe four years ago.

I don't even know if that table was my aunt's. My memories of her are almost exclusively in the context of my childhood homes. She lived just a few blocks away in a small apartment overlooking my elementary schoolyard. She would often come for dinner, especially in the summer when my folks would cook vegetables straight from the garden. As she got older, we'd drive over with the mini-van to get her.

She smoked - pretty much her entire life. When she came over, my parents would give her a silver ashtray to take outside with her. It had two elephants in the middle. Funny the stuff you remember when you think back. I'm sure that ashtray otherwise holds no place in my memory.

She had once been a teacher, but that was long before I came along, or at least the years I remember. She had been married once, but like her career, I never knew of him. She would keep that name for the rest of her life... Otherwise her and I would've shared the same initials.

Despite her chosen career and marriage, she would never have children.

It's somewhat refreshing to think that despite being from a different era, she lived a life different from her cohorts.

I have but a vague memory of her home. I believe it was when we were helping her move out. She had tons of books. Books were everywhere.

I remembered this as I walked home from work tonight, so upon getting in the door I went to my bookshelf. I felt like there was a slight chance that I may have kept one of those books. Through years of moving, place after place (eight in all), I did. A 1951 publication of "The End of The Affair" by Graham Greene has her signature on the top right corner of the first yellowed page.

I've never read it.

But I will now.

Rest in peace Eleanor Freberg.