“Who has put wisdom in the inward parts or given understanding to the mind?”
‭‭Job‬ ‭38:36‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Byron Katie wrote “When I argue with reality, I lose…but only 100% of the time.” As I have contemplated the events of Thursday night with my aunt, I have ruminated over our relationship these last 65 years. This is the aunt I came to West Virginia to help four years ago. That particular venture lasted ten very long and miserable weeks…for both of us. On Christmas Day she rather unceremoniously invited me to leave. And I did so gracefully. She wasn’t ready to have someone living with her full time. I wasn’t ready to devote myself to such an undertaking. It had only been a year and a half since losing Mr. Virgo. So, God did what God does…He removed me from the situation and planted me where He wanted me.

This particular aunt has always been referred to as “The Cruise Director” in my family. She tells people to jump and they ask “How High?” on the way up. That’s not me. So, we butted heads a lot. She was a school teacher. She expected children to mind her. That was not me. I talked a blue streak and was filled with exuberant curiosity. We were always just out of step with each other, but I always still loved her. I thought she loved me. Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. Doesn’t matter.

My aunt and I had our first major disagreement after my mother died. I was in West Virginia for a week for the funeral and needed to return to Colorado. She agreed to let my brother stay with her while I was gone. I brought him to the farm.

I was leaving she said, “Now, I’ll go to the house and clean it out while you are gone.”

“Oh, no…you don’t need to do that. I’ll do it when I get back.” I said.

“No, I will go in and clean it out while you are gone.”

“Really…I need to do that. I need to go through the papers and things and get everything straightened out. I need time to do that.”

“Well,” she said. “There are things in that house I want.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yes, there are things in there I want, so I’ll come get them while you are gone.” Stern, authoritative. Totally mistaking who she is dealing with.

“No. That house is mine and my brothers. The things in it are mine and my brothers. If there are things you would like, you can give me a list, and if me or my children or my brother do not want them, I will be happy to let you have them.”

As I drove home, I cried. I was bereaved and now I was being treated unfairly by someone I thought cared about me. I was nearly back to my mom’s house when I drove past Home Depot. I pulled in and bought new door locks and installed them when I got home. I wrote a kind letter thanking my aunt for her generous offer to help me, but I really did intend to do this myself as I needed the closure. And, to keep her from being tempted to go in and do all that work anyway, I had changed the locks. You know…to remove the temptation.

She was furious. In the following 8 months that I was there fixing up mom’s house to sell, she never stepped foot in it again. We are both very stubborn women.

The following year, I met Mr. Virgo. Two years later, we married. Six years later, he died. One year later I decided to sell my house and move to Denver. But the market wasn’t strong where my house was and my sale price was much lower than my asking price. And, the price of real estate in the Denver metro area had increased nearly 20%. Unless I wanted another mortgage, I needed to make alternate plans. About that time, I had a trip planned to West Virginia and was staying at the farm. She wasn’t doing very well. She had a terrible tremor and it was interfering with her ability to take care of herself. We had long conversations and we talked with her daughter and my uncle and we decided I would come to West Virginia to help her out on the farm.

Our second big disagreement came in the form of a painting she did not like. Her reasoning was my first clue there might be a problem with cognition. I started watching for signs of dementia. She had word finding difficulties. She burned up several tea kettles. She was becoming more and more belligerent and argumentative and truthfully…flat out ugly to me. It was traumatic. When we parted seed corn, I went on my way and traveled and had adventures and wrote and wrote and wrote. And I did a lot of healing.

I came out to the farm about once a week or so to check in. I’d bring her some groceries. I’d make sure she had some good meals in the fridge to heat up. I’d do a load or two of laundry. We settled into a kind of truce. Then, in the summer of 2016, I was driving cross country to attend my high school reunion. I wasn’t sure where I was going to live that winter. I received a phone call that my aunt wasn’t doing well. She had been hospitalized. My uncle asked me to care for the farm while he took her to live with him. And that’s how I came back to the home of my heart…this time with healing and love and freedom.

After everything was settled Thursday night, and they had packed up the car to take my aunt back home, I shook for half an hour. I recognized the symptoms of PTSD. This is one of the after effects of my grief. Mr. FixIt laid down beside me and held my hands while I breathed and talked to Jesus. I soon felt better and slept well. This morning, I was fine.

Facing the reality that sometimes relationships aren’t what you had hoped they would be has helped me. Being honest with my own feelings has released me from harboring guilt and anger. When my aunt said ugly things to me all my life, it had absolutely nothing to do with me and absolutely everything to do with the person she is and where she is on her journey. The other night, she told me my grandma wouldn’t like me having a man in her bed. Her attempt to shame me. I didn’t bite. Oh, it stung a little. And there were things I would have liked to say to her. Like…my grandma would be proud of me for dropping everything and coming to help someone who obviously has never liked me. Or…my grandma would be proud that I turn the other cheek and try to love a difficult person the same way Jesus loves me. Or…my grandma would be proud that I am caring for her beloved farm the way she did. Instead, I said, “I hope you dream sweet on this new mattress. I put fresh crisp sheets on for you. Here’s an extra blanket. We’ll be right here if you need anything.”

I’m not a saint. But I know where to pick my battles and arguing with someone with dementia isn’t going to go anywhere I need to be. I hate that this is happening to her. I hate that my uncle is having to care for both his sister and his wife with Alzheimer’s. I hate that my cousin’s daughter was so traumatized by the events that went down Thursday night. It’s a terrible disease and there is never a good outcome. It does no good to argue with that reality. ❤