Stay in the Loop
BSR publishes on a weekly schedule, with an email newsletter every Wednesday and Thursday morning. There’s no paywall, and subscribing is always free.
In the blood: My aunt's legacy
Aunt Millie's legacy
Jackie Schifalacqua
The old lady seemed to stare longingly at me as I moved down the hallway from her bed in intensive care. I turned away but moved my head around to catch one more glimpse of her and caught the sad expression on her face. I waved a cheerful goodbye and told her I'd see her on Monday after my weekend down the shore, but my Aunt Millie knew this would be the last time she would see me.
On Sunday night, after reminiscing about her dead sister and brothers-in-law, she told her daughter she was ready to die.
When my cousin returned to the hospital bed the following Monday, my aunt was lapsed into a coma. At the age of 98, her body was giving up on itself.
I helped sit vigil that night. There was nothing else left to do. On Wednesday afternoon, with her daughter, daughter-in-law and niece idly gossiping as if they were around a kitchen table, my aunt stopped breathing. It was swift, peaceful and amazingly beautiful. This was no Emperor of Ice Cream event.
Elopement with a sculptor
Born in 1911, the first child of the immigrant actress daughter of the Mayor of Alta Villa Irbina, Avellino, Italy, Millie was destined to become, because of her mathematical abilities and my grandmother's insistence, a graduate of a business school. In her first year at the school she eloped with a dashing sculptor from Sao Paulo, Brazil. My grandmother never forgave my uncle for this indiscretion. My aunt, though, never stopped loving him.
During the Depression, as he worked on his marble, my aunt became a bookkeeper at Gimbel's. They moved into a home full of sculptures and painting, music and laughter. My aunt lived there until her visit to the hospital.
When her two children reached college age, my uncle took up a more mundane profession: carving tombstones. But my aunt stayed a bookkeeper until her last boss died and she was forced into retirement at 82.
Though her younger sisters climbed the financial and social ladders of money and respectability, my aunt was content in her little row home. There were no drafts in it and no second mortgages on it. Here she was beholden to no one, blissful in the love of her God, satisfied in the knowledge of what she believed was right, and secure within the fortress of her family.
Accounting or music?
Her children sought the more prosaic lifestyles of an insurance executive and schoolteacher and produced five grandchildren, who in turn spawned nine great-grandchildren.
On the day of the funeral, these accountants, a vice-admiral, small business owners, schoolteachers and students flew in from all over the country.
Natalie, the oldest of my aunt's great-grandchildren is a college student in Texas. Her major is business administration and accounting, but her passion is the piano. She was a solo virtuoso at age 14 and still accompanies visiting musicians who perform at her school.
I asked Natalie— my first cousin twice removed— if she intended to become an accountant or a musician. She looked up with a familiar longing expression and told me that while she liked the idea of making a living, it didn't compare with the passion of living a life.
The Pennsylvania Dutch have an expression for this: Siss im blut. It's in the blood.
Arrivederci, Aunt Millie. Your spirit will survive.♦
To read a response, click here.
On Sunday night, after reminiscing about her dead sister and brothers-in-law, she told her daughter she was ready to die.
When my cousin returned to the hospital bed the following Monday, my aunt was lapsed into a coma. At the age of 98, her body was giving up on itself.
I helped sit vigil that night. There was nothing else left to do. On Wednesday afternoon, with her daughter, daughter-in-law and niece idly gossiping as if they were around a kitchen table, my aunt stopped breathing. It was swift, peaceful and amazingly beautiful. This was no Emperor of Ice Cream event.
Elopement with a sculptor
Born in 1911, the first child of the immigrant actress daughter of the Mayor of Alta Villa Irbina, Avellino, Italy, Millie was destined to become, because of her mathematical abilities and my grandmother's insistence, a graduate of a business school. In her first year at the school she eloped with a dashing sculptor from Sao Paulo, Brazil. My grandmother never forgave my uncle for this indiscretion. My aunt, though, never stopped loving him.
During the Depression, as he worked on his marble, my aunt became a bookkeeper at Gimbel's. They moved into a home full of sculptures and painting, music and laughter. My aunt lived there until her visit to the hospital.
When her two children reached college age, my uncle took up a more mundane profession: carving tombstones. But my aunt stayed a bookkeeper until her last boss died and she was forced into retirement at 82.
Though her younger sisters climbed the financial and social ladders of money and respectability, my aunt was content in her little row home. There were no drafts in it and no second mortgages on it. Here she was beholden to no one, blissful in the love of her God, satisfied in the knowledge of what she believed was right, and secure within the fortress of her family.
Accounting or music?
Her children sought the more prosaic lifestyles of an insurance executive and schoolteacher and produced five grandchildren, who in turn spawned nine great-grandchildren.
On the day of the funeral, these accountants, a vice-admiral, small business owners, schoolteachers and students flew in from all over the country.
Natalie, the oldest of my aunt's great-grandchildren is a college student in Texas. Her major is business administration and accounting, but her passion is the piano. She was a solo virtuoso at age 14 and still accompanies visiting musicians who perform at her school.
I asked Natalie— my first cousin twice removed— if she intended to become an accountant or a musician. She looked up with a familiar longing expression and told me that while she liked the idea of making a living, it didn't compare with the passion of living a life.
The Pennsylvania Dutch have an expression for this: Siss im blut. It's in the blood.
Arrivederci, Aunt Millie. Your spirit will survive.♦
To read a response, click here.
Sign up for our newsletter
All of the week's new articles, all in one place. Sign up for the free weekly BSR newsletters, and don't miss a conversation.
