Aunt Mildred
Born in 1920, Mildred was the youngest of nine children. Just three years younger than my grandfather, Tommy Knight, Mildred was destined to live with Tommy all his life.
As a child, Mildred attended school and was passed from grade to grade without learning any of the basics. She never learned to read nor gained any foundational knowledge one might expect from a formal education. Her teachers passed her because they likely didn’t know what else to do.
Today Mildred would be considered special needs. Ninety years ago, she was called “slow.” It is a moniker she held her entire life as there was never an attempt to diagnose her. I don’t know what caused Mildred to struggle, and it doesn’t matter. Regardless of how she would be described with today’s understanding, in the mid twentieth century Mildred was destined to be ignored by society.
Without the skill or ability to live alone, Mildred lived with Tommy, my Grandmother Estelle, and their three daughters. They took care of her and provided for her needs. Mildred could create chaos and frustration, but Estelle never wavered in her willingness to care for her and to love her. It was a warm and safe environment and Mildred was happy.
In the late sixties, I was born, and Mildred found a focus. The first seven years of my life, I lived across the street from my grandparents and thus from Mildred. I am told from the day I was brought home; Mildred took an obsessive interest in me. It was like I was the child she would ever have. Her love for me and the connection she felt to me, and I subsequently felt with her, was unique and powerful.
It was not uncommon for her to be toting me on her hip crossing the street to her house. She wanted to be a part of all the activities involving me. She tried to help mom every chance she was allowed and made it known who her favorite person was. She wasn’t shy about stating her opinion about me and would cause mom consternation when she thought I was being mistreated. Mom loved to retell the story of the time I wanted an ice cream, and she said no. Only to see Mildred “pitch a the biggest fit I have ever seen.” She was my staunchest ally and defender. Even over something small like an ice cream cone.
After the passing of Tommy, Mildred came to live with us. We had moved fifteen minutes away from my grandparents’ old home and Mildred was too much for Estelle to handle. I was seven when she moved into our home.
I have heard people say they feel blessed to not have a special needs person in their life. In my humble opinion I think they have it wrong. Sure, there are enormous challenges that are present when a person needs extra help. It isn’t easy and for certain not always fun. However, the gift you receive from accepting a person for who they are and experiencing the world through their unique eyes is priceless.
When I reflect on my life with Mildred and the impact she had on me, I am reminded of the lessons I learned; she taught me to respect every person, especially those who are struggling, as a human being with feelings and compassion; she taught me to embrace simple things as joyful; and she taught me that everyone can make a difference. Mildred was never going to change the world, or for that matter even contribute based on the way people measure contributions, but she influenced me. She made, and continues to make, a difference in my life.
Her spirit lives with me and has anchored how I view those who seem to be struggling. Forevermore, when I see a person who is down and out, I give them the benefit of the doubt. My default setting isn’t that they did something wrong or are lazy. I accept that everyone has a story that isn’t told or understood and, at least initially, I believe I can and should give them respect. I’m not perfect at this, but I try.
It is harder today to start with caring thoughts. As a society we are so quick to judge and categorize people. I’m afraid Mildred would not have been well received. I am told, as a child, she wasn’t ridiculed in school. As an adult she existed without causing people to react negatively. I am not sure she would be treated similarly today.
After I went to college and mom got breast cancer, Mildred moved into a nursing home where she lived almost twenty years. She was healthy but needed a place to live safely that provided her basic needs. I visited her often, but not enough. Each time I visited; I felt a bit embarrassed as all the staff pointed out that I was all she ever talked about. When other family members came to visit, all she wanted to know was “how is Mikey”? The connection we had never left.
I think of Aunt Mildred often. I wonder what her life would have been like if she had had the benefit of today’s emphasis on identifying special needs children and helping them to adapt. I have no doubt her life would have been different. I also know Mildred was happy and content. I take peace in knowing she always smiled when I saw her, and she never complained about her circumstances.
She wasn’t given much, but she had a gift. It was a gift of unconditional love and a simplicity that I admire. She is never far from me.
We will never have a world where there aren’t people who face an uphill battle. Life can never be perfect, and isn’t that what makes life perfect? I have never talked openly about my special aunt, but I am certain she added to my life in ways that cannot be measured.
I hope this gives you pause to consider those in your life that fall below society’s standards. To reflect on their gift to you, your opportunity to learn from them, and the chance to give them back some of that unconditional love.
