Aunt Helene

A glance at the best, kindest person I’ve ever known

Women in our lives are important, forging paths of resilience and strength through which our footsteps collectively travel. The following essay on my chosen special person is inspired by two exquisite essays that embrace this idea: Stephanie Raffelock’s insightful post about her grandmother Julia in How to be an Old Woman and Nancy Stordahl’s meaningful post about her Aunt Betty in Do (or Did You) Have an Aunt Betty?

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“Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that you’ve never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and actually want to hear more.”

– Bob Marley

For me, that once-in-a-lifetime person was my Aunt Helene. Once I was born, a light was forged between us. Family stories tell me that when I was a baby, Aunt Helene frequently visited me. All I had to do was hear her voice as she entered our apartment, and I would immediately stand up in my crib and reach for her.

My Aunt Helene and me, the early years

Helene was born and raised in Manhattan, NY. While I was also born in Manhattan, very close to where Helene lived, I grew up in the Bronx. She was always a cool Manhattanite, dressing her petite body in fashionably cute styles. She used the words, “hon” and “doll” to address those she cared about, as well as “fabu” for fabulous. She was exceedingly generous and intelligent, with a great sense of humor. She loved jewelry more than anyone I know. She was petrified of cats, saying to me, “Hon, when I see a cat, I see a lion.” She was unconventional, independent, and lived her life the way she wanted.

I admired and adored her.

When I was a young girl, we had so much fun. She would polish my nails and style my hair. Countless sleepovers at her apartment had us sharing a Castro Convertible pull-out couch and oohing and ahhing over cute male TV stars, as well as her peppering me with questions about what was going on in my life.

Us

Throughout my life, she was my salvation who blessed my world with goodness. She was also my moral compass, teaching me right from wrong.

I always confided in her and told her my secrets. At a time when I felt powerless and silenced, with no voice, my advocate and cheerleader was always interested in what I had to say. Helene would encourage me to have a voice, as well as seize my own power and autonomy.

Us again

My beautiful aunt was the kindest, most empathetic, best human I ever knew. For example, when one of her co-workers became homeless, Helene took her and her teenage daughter into her apartment, where they lived for years until they could live independently.

Even though I eventually moved to the Midwest, Helene and I stayed close, constantly speaking on the phone, and spending lots of time together during my many visits to New York. We would regularly troll around Greenwich Village and shop at the plethora of stores.

Helene had survived breast cancer years before I was diagnosed with this disease. She kept her diagnosis and treatment secret from me, for she didn’t want to worry me. I eventually found out, and I called her, and we had a heart-to-heart chat, where I told her she could count on me for support, and that I loved her tremendously.

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, my aunt became a shero. I frequently called her crying, telling her my fears and anguish. No matter how many times I reached out to her, she steely told me everything would be fine in a way I could temporarily believe.

A few days after one of my chemotherapy treatments, I stayed with her in New York. She took such good care of me. She had flowers in the guest room, as well as cheery decor, making my stay there so comforting. She even paid in advance for me to get a massage at a massage therapy center owned by a doctor who survived cancer. To date, this has been the greatest, most thoughtful present I’ve ever received, as the massage temporarily alleviated the emotional and physical downsides of chemotherapy.

After cancer treatment ended – and I realize how lucky I am that it ended – I started taking oil painting lessons. She’d often call me while I was in art class and leave me a lighthearted voicemail saying, “This message is for Picasso…” I loved getting these heart-warming, humorous messages.

Five years after my breast cancer treatment ended, I had a preventive double mastectomy and DIEP Flap reconstruction. Aunt Helene and my brother flew in for the surgery. Once I came home from the hospital, she stayed with me (and my cat, to her sheer horror) for five weeks, changing my dressings, bathing me, and accompanying me to my follow-up appointments.

Soon after my surgery, a breast cancer essay I wrote was published in a well-respected anthology, and I was invited to the book launch, which happened to be adjacent to the Manhattan hospital where I was born and close to where my aunt lived. About two hours before the launch party, my aunt and I were celebrating in her apartment by dressing up and putting on makeup to an Alicia Keys soundtrack. I will always cherish this magical evening.

My Aunt Helene and I at the book launch

Helene died several years ago, and though the grief is still there and I miss her every day, I appreciate her profound influence and carry her spirit in my heart forever. People have told me that I am kind in the same way that she was kind.

I learned from the best.

The magic where it all happened: the short brown building on the corner is where my grandparents and, later, my aunt lived. And, yes, that’s real NYC graffiti.

I had been finishing this Japanese garden painting in art class, only to come home and hear Helene’s voice “This message is for Picasso….” on my answering machine.