Annice

On Feb. 17^th, my dear Aunt Frances died at the age of 82.  She was the last aunt of the Brown sisters, leaving my father with no remaining siblings, and he is sad.  I understand that sadness because I know how sad I would be without my sisters and my brother.  When my dad called last week to tell me the news, he ended the conversation by saying, “Enjoy your life because it doesn’t last long enough.” And while my dad is more than 25 years older than I am, I feel the force of that statement.

For me, Aunt France’s death feels like the end of an era, an era of women who were “ladies,” and naturally so.  It’s not that ladies don’t exist today, but that term is almost never used to define anyone of our generation.  (I felt the same way when Jackie Kennedy died.)  An era has passed, and our generation is now the generation of mothers and aunts that will be defined by our daughters and nieces.  What will they say about us?

My Aunt Frances always took great care to look her best.  She was witty and knew what to say and when to say it.  She never wore white after Labor Day and was never without lipstick.  She always sent a card for significant birthdays, 18, 21, 30, 40, and 50.  Most importantly, my aunt was forever doing for others.  Her obituary said it right:  “She was passionate about contributing to the community, and rarely, if ever, said ‘no’ when asked to help individuals and organizations.  Hadassah, a women’s Jewish organization, was the one closest to her heart.”

In fact, when I got my first job in Washington, D.C., Aunt Frances paid for my membership in Hadassah for many years, which included a monthly magazine.  I was never interested in Hadassah and finally cancelled the subscription.  Aunt Frances accepted my decision without asking why.  As for me, I’m sure I would have pressured my niece to explain. 

What I liked most about my aunt is that she was a good listener.  Unlike my mother, who yelled first and then asked questions, Aunt Frances did the opposite.  Something else that endeared me to her was that she liked to talk about books.  Like my dad, and like me, she was particularly fond of historical novels, and if they had a Jewish theme, plot, or central character, all the better.  I remember the very last book we discussed, Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky, the French novelist.  I was reading it on that particular visit to Cleveland but hadn’t finished it in time to leave it with her. I told her about the author and how she sent her two daughters to the South of France to hide them from the Nazis during the occupation of Paris—daughters who survived while Nemirovsky perished in Auschwitz.  The book is incredible because it is written during the actual time.  Nemirovsky’s oldest daughter found the manuscript but could not bring herself to read it until 50 years later.  When she did, she sent it to a publisher, and in 2004 it became am international bestseller, selling over 2.5 million copies. Later that evening, I shared that conversation with my dad, and he went out the very next day and bought three copies, one for Aunt Frances, one for him, and one to pass around to other family members.

My dad and his siblings were first- generation Americans, and after the war, their family home was a pied a terre for family members from Hungary and Czechoslovakia who had survived the concentration camps.  Both my dad and my aunt became close friends with their cousins whom they met for the first time after the war.  They were greatly moved by that experience, which, I believe, inspired them to always help others.  Even though they grew up poor during the Depression, they saw their lives as privileged when compared to the survivors of Auschwitz.

My Aunt Frances lived a life full of meaning and purpose, and she will always be remembered by me.