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Authors: Marilyn Baron
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taking on so much responsibility. Her goals have changed.”
“When is the last time you talked to her about this?”
“Right before you came. She’s afraid to tell you how she feels. She doesn’t want to disappoint you. She wants to do what’s right for you and your brother and your father’s memory, but that’s not what’s right for her at this stage in her life.”
I sighed. “Then I need to talk to her again.”
“What you need to do is listen , Honey, to what she’s trying to tell you. Her heart isn’t in it anymore. This was your father’s dream, not hers.”
“Well what does she intend to do with the rest of her life? Wait for the end in Millennium Gardens?”
“Is that what you think we’re doing here? Waiting to die? We’re living very fulfilling lives. Every Friday night they play Cuban music at the clubhouse and they teach salsa dancing and Zumba.”
“I didn’t mean anything by that,” I apologized to my aunt, who looked like she was on the verge of walking out. “But my mother had a very active life in Atlanta. She still has a lot to give. Donny and I need her to come back.”
“Whose needs are you looking out for? Hers or yours?”
“She needs to face what’s happened,” I argued, “and look at life from a realistic perspective.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Honey. You haven’t lost your husband.”
My aunt’s words stung, but she didn’t know that was exactly what was about to happen to me.
And I knew Aunt Helene was not just talking about my mother’s loss.
“So how are you doing, really?” I wanted to know, taking her hand.
“I’m fine,” she answered, patting my hand and placing it back on my lap.
Aunt Helene never struck me as the type to shack up—or, as Hannah would say, hook up—with someone. My aunt had always been very conventional. But apparently things were different here at Millennium Gardens. She had essentially been shacking up with her significant other before he died.
“Aunt Helene. Why didn’t you and Mr. Cohen ever get married?”
“I loved having him around,” she confided. “We had a very pleasant relationship and we got closer and closer, but I didn’t want the responsibility or commitment of being married.”
“Why not?”
“He had his own apartment. I had mine. We were on separate tracks but managed to meet in the middle ground. I like my privacy, doing my thing at my time. Harold was the same way. He preferred watching football games and the fights and being quiet. I went to bed at 11:00; he went to bed at 2:00. I liked to watch nature shows and he was interested in the stock market. Why does it do this and that? Why is it up one day and down the next day? He liked to wear his hair long. I like a man with a hair cut. If we had a disagreement, we repaired it and kept going.” She sighed. “But I like my home. I like thinking of your uncle. After so many years being involved with one man, I didn’t want to have to adjust to another man as a husband.”
I was thinking about my own marriage and the adjustments I’d soon have to make, and then we got to talking about love the second time around.
“It’s not exactly the same,” explained Aunt Helene. “Being older, you look at things a little differently, and it could be exciting, but in a very different way. There’s another dimension to it. When you’re young, your hormones take over more so than logic.”
What about sex? I wanted to ask, but didn’t have the nerve. Aunt Helene, however, seemed to anticipate the question.
“Sex is up to the individual, and what their needs are. Not only up to the individual, but it has to do with who can perform sex. There are some who think about sex an awful lot but that’s about all they can do. Unfortunately, Harold and I were in that category.”
What category did I fall into? My husband was certainly “performing sex,” but not with me. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time we had “performed sex.”
I was
“When is the last time you talked to her about this?”
“Right before you came. She’s afraid to tell you how she feels. She doesn’t want to disappoint you. She wants to do what’s right for you and your brother and your father’s memory, but that’s not what’s right for her at this stage in her life.”
I sighed. “Then I need to talk to her again.”
“What you need to do is listen , Honey, to what she’s trying to tell you. Her heart isn’t in it anymore. This was your father’s dream, not hers.”
“Well what does she intend to do with the rest of her life? Wait for the end in Millennium Gardens?”
“Is that what you think we’re doing here? Waiting to die? We’re living very fulfilling lives. Every Friday night they play Cuban music at the clubhouse and they teach salsa dancing and Zumba.”
“I didn’t mean anything by that,” I apologized to my aunt, who looked like she was on the verge of walking out. “But my mother had a very active life in Atlanta. She still has a lot to give. Donny and I need her to come back.”
“Whose needs are you looking out for? Hers or yours?”
“She needs to face what’s happened,” I argued, “and look at life from a realistic perspective.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Honey. You haven’t lost your husband.”
My aunt’s words stung, but she didn’t know that was exactly what was about to happen to me.
And I knew Aunt Helene was not just talking about my mother’s loss.
“So how are you doing, really?” I wanted to know, taking her hand.
“I’m fine,” she answered, patting my hand and placing it back on my lap.
Aunt Helene never struck me as the type to shack up—or, as Hannah would say, hook up—with someone. My aunt had always been very conventional. But apparently things were different here at Millennium Gardens. She had essentially been shacking up with her significant other before he died.
“Aunt Helene. Why didn’t you and Mr. Cohen ever get married?”
“I loved having him around,” she confided. “We had a very pleasant relationship and we got closer and closer, but I didn’t want the responsibility or commitment of being married.”
“Why not?”
“He had his own apartment. I had mine. We were on separate tracks but managed to meet in the middle ground. I like my privacy, doing my thing at my time. Harold was the same way. He preferred watching football games and the fights and being quiet. I went to bed at 11:00; he went to bed at 2:00. I liked to watch nature shows and he was interested in the stock market. Why does it do this and that? Why is it up one day and down the next day? He liked to wear his hair long. I like a man with a hair cut. If we had a disagreement, we repaired it and kept going.” She sighed. “But I like my home. I like thinking of your uncle. After so many years being involved with one man, I didn’t want to have to adjust to another man as a husband.”
I was thinking about my own marriage and the adjustments I’d soon have to make, and then we got to talking about love the second time around.
“It’s not exactly the same,” explained Aunt Helene. “Being older, you look at things a little differently, and it could be exciting, but in a very different way. There’s another dimension to it. When you’re young, your hormones take over more so than logic.”
What about sex? I wanted to ask, but didn’t have the nerve. Aunt Helene, however, seemed to anticipate the question.
“Sex is up to the individual, and what their needs are. Not only up to the individual, but it has to do with who can perform sex. There are some who think about sex an awful lot but that’s about all they can do. Unfortunately, Harold and I were in that category.”
What category did I fall into? My husband was certainly “performing sex,” but not with me. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time we had “performed sex.”
I was
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