Aunt Myrtle

It sounds fake, doesn't it? Well, it's not. I had one. Really, her name was Myrtle. She really wasn't my aunt by blood, but more of a family friend. But I didn't know that. To me, she was and will always be my Aunt Myrtle.

I didn't know much about her then.  Just that we saw her a few times a year, on holidays usually, and once in a while just for no reason.  She lived alone in a tiny apartment in Chicago. She had no visible family, no husband or children.  I guess there was a sister up in Buffalo, I found that out later, right before we heard she died.  She had to go live with that sister at the end. I don't think she was exactly welcome there, from comments my mother made at the time.

To be honest, I still don't know much about her even now that I am grown.  But I will tell you what I know. She had a terribly tragic childhood and was raised by an aunt of hers who treated her like an inconvenience and a nuisance.

Despite all of that, I know she had one of the kindest faces I ever saw.  I know she loved us like we were her own kids.  I know she was an expert knitter and taught my mother to knit, something my mom enjoyed for decades, until very shortly before her eyesight went bad.  I know that she loved roses, all roses, like no one I have ever seen, and she made an effort to chose a rose pattern on everything she had -- from china to bedding. With what little money she made, and it was very little according to my mom, she surrounded herself with the beautiful things she loved.

Aunt Myrtle never wore designer clothes, had her nails done, or even owned a car.  Her worldly possessions could probably fit into an army footlocker. (Do they still have those? You know the giant suitcase looking thing that takes two people to lift it, with all the travel stickers all over it?)

With the little she had, she gave so much away. We always had birthday gifts, Christmas gifts, and Easter candy from Aunt Myrtle.  She hand-knitted each of us a coming-home-from-the-hospital outfit when we were born.  She wrote me a poem for my birthday when I was a toddler, called "Little Miss," which I still have. She always thought of others and rarely thought of herself. She organized, with no previous experience, my mother and father's entire wedding.

She loved the Lord, His work and His people.  She gave generously to her church, missionaries, and others in need, people who probably never knew that Aunt Myrtle needed the money more than they did.

And she never raised her voice or rolled her eyes or acted unkind to us or anyone else that I'm aware of. She was an ideal Aunt in every sense of the word, and I still remember her fondly. She awaits us in heaven, not because she was a great lady, which she was, but because she trusted the Savior for her salvation.

I guess that's all I really need to know.