Aunt Bette and the Bed Bath
How do people make it through life without a
sister?
-
Sara Corpening
It was late fall 1999. Marilyn, my mother-in-law, was
failing. She was losing her battle with cancer, and her
older sister Bette came north from her home in San Diego
to give moral support and comfort. Marilyn was seventyone,
and Bette was seventy-five. They had been known as
the Burns girls back in Bangor, Maine, where they grew
up. Those New England women are made from stern
stuff—they don't complain much and usually keep a stiff
upper lip. Although my father-in-law doted on Marilyn,
there are some things a husband just cannot do. Bette
decided that her sister needed some pampering, and I was
enlisted to help in this maneuver. The womenfolk were
taking over.
Bette started off by asking Marilyn if she would like a
bath. When Marilyn nodded in agreement, Bette asked if
she would prefer a tub bath or a bed bath. We watched as
she mouthed the words "bed bath." Bette looked at me
and said, "We have to make a trip to the drugstore. I know
just what we need."
So, with promises to be back soon, I drove us down the
hill to the store. As we drove, Bette began ticking off on
her fingers all the things we would need. "When was the
last time you did this?" I asked her. She thought a moment
and answered, "Oh, it must have been in the '40s. But you
never forget how. We'll need a couple of tubs, some plastic
sheeting, sponges, some nice scented bubble bath and
a couple of other things."
When we arrived at the store, Bette led the charge, commandeering
a cart and checking every aisle. We could not
find everything right away, so Bette tracked down a
young man in a green vest whose nametag identified him
as Carlos. "Hello, Carlos," Bette began in a formal yet
familiar way. "Will you help us find a few things?" Bette
was clearly in charge now, and poor Carlos was unable to
duck out on us until our cart was full of the necessary
items. At the checkout counter, Bette thanked Carlos
("Thank you, deah") in her best New England accent.
Back at the house, we sprang into action, donning
aprons and filling the tubs, adding some lavender-scented
bubble bath to the comfortably warm water. Bette gave
me a look that I understood to mean: This will be hard, but
we have to keep the mood light—and, above all, we can't
let Marilyn see us cry. Using the childhood nickname that
no one else would think of using, Bette urged her little sister
Mimi to be a good girl and roll onto her side. We began
bathing her hands and arms, the warm water filling the
room with the calming scent of lavender. I found myself
unable to keep the tears at bay and left the room frequently
to refill the tubs or run more hot water—unnecessary
tasks that allowed me to take a moment to regain my
composure and steel myself. Bette, however, never left the
room and never stopped her gentle patter. We bathed
Marilyn's feet and noticed that that they really needed
some attention. I found a pair of nail scissors and a small
brush and gave Marilyn a poor approximation of a pedicure,
while Bette continued speaking sweetly to her sister
as she gently bathed her and used a soft towel to pat her
fragile skin dry. Even though words often failed Marilyn
now, she murmured her appreciation and smiled as we
pampered her.
Once the bath was finished, we massaged lavender
lotion on her arms and legs, the soothing scent working
into her papery skin. We kept up a little conversation, calling
each other Olga and Helga, keeping things light, keeping
our hearts from breaking right then as we cared for
this woman we loved like a baby.
My mother-in-law was a role model and a mentor,
although she seemed intimidating to me when I began
dating her son when I was seventeen. Over the years,
however, after I married her oldest child and produced the
first grandchild, she became more than that: she was a
source of wisdom, support and unconditional love. I will
be lucky if I can have this kind of relationship with my
daughters-in-law if and when my sons get married. She
was a professional woman, an educator, and she had a
sense of who she was and how she fit into the world. She
was never at a loss for words, never in doubt. I think I only
saw her cry twice in all the years I knew her. But now, she
was always at a loss for words, her clothes hung on her
like sacks, and she seemed so lost and unsure.
The bath was over, and we helped Marilyn into a kittensoft
robe that felt nice against her skin. She was up on her
feet, slippers on, ready to go sit up with the menfolk in the
other room. Before she walked out, she gave her blonde
wig a pat, and I assured her it looked fine. One more
smoothing touch to the wig, and she walked slowly to her
chair. She carried the scent of lavender with her, graceful
and somehow strong despite the strength she had lost
and continued to lose.
Bette taught me an important lesson, and not just how
to give a bed bath. Despite age and time and life's complexities,
the bond between sisters is stronger than anything
else. When everything is stripped away and time is
forgotten, the older sister takes care of the younger sister.
Take my hand when we cross the street. Don't catch cold. Would
you like a lovely bath? Here, let me help you, dear.
-Risa Nye |
