Aunt Catherine

 My mother’s sister, Catherine, died last week. While it could be pointed out that I had not talked with her lately, it cannot be argued that her passing leaves me feeling sad.

Mom had four brothers and two sisters. Although I saw my uncles more frequently, it was when I was with my aunts that I would see my mother’s eyes, recognize her smile, and hear her voice. I would also learn about her as I listened to their stories.

I learned a lot about Mom from them – things that maybe Mom would not have told me herself. Mom was born in 1929, the year that saw the beginning of The Great Depression (that much I knew). As times were tough many families did not enough money or food to take care of their own children. As a little girl, my mother was sent to live with her aunt and uncle for a few months.

During World War II when their Dad and brothers were off to war, the three girls had to pick up the slack. Mom helped with the farm chores in the barn and fields, while her two sisters helped their mother keep house, prepare meals and sew.

They also had adventures on the farm. My aunts told about the time of they got chased up a tree by a bull. There was also the time when one of the girls had to be pulled out of an icy river that ran through their farm.

As Catherine got older she continued to have adventures, but now it was with her husband, John, and their three children.  They lived in the South American country of Chile, in the desert outside of Tucson, Arizona, and near the mountains in Boise, Idaho and Denver, Colorado. It wasn’t easy to see Aunt Catherine on a regular basis, as she often lived far away and kept moving.

Her husband, John, was a geologist whose work took him to many different locations. Even though he worked with rocks he never took his sense of humor for granted. He once asked my wife, Rhonda, and me when our birthdays were. When he found out that we were less than a year apart he said, “Well, geologically speaking, you’re really the same age.” I thought it was funny.

I have often wondered with all their moving (to some pretty desolate places) if Catherine didn’t get lonely. She once told me about the pioneer women who had lived by themselves, often for months at a time, when their men folk would be gone hunting and trapping. She said the women often lost their minds listening to the wind and wolves howling outside their tiny, cold cabins.

As the winter creeps in from the north and the wind and coyotes howl outside my warm farm house, I think of those pioneer women and Aunt Catherine. Catherine was sharp, witty and funny. She was a good mother, a devoted wife, a loyal sister and a loving aunt, and with her passing I feel the loss of my mother.