ISABEL

As I've posted before, my father was the oldest of nine siblings, and this is a picture of his youngest sibling, my aunt Isabel.

Now right off the bat, let me mention that the spelling of her name has never really been clear. I always had ISABEL clearly in my mind, and she was quick to correct you. But I also think that perhaps ISABELL is the right spelling, and either way, I know she will forgive me.

And I want to be clear that my decision to write about Isabel today is a reflection of my thoughts and memories of a beautiful and vibrant aunt, and not a intrusion on anyone else's experiences. They are mine, and they are treasured.

At this point in time, Isabel, and that is "Isabel Frances" is a resident in the Colville Manor. Her best days are behind her, and she is arguably reaching the end of her journey. And oh, what a journey. My cousin Betty called me this morning to keep me in the loop, and arranged a time for me to visit. The restrictions on visitors is loosening, but it isn't a free for all yet.

Betty warned me that I might be shocked or scared when I saw her, but in all honesty, I felt a calm and peacefulness in the room. Isabel never woke or spoke, and a sweet little RCW was carefully feeding her. The care of the residents in the Manor knows no bounds, the residents are treated like family. Her room is bright and spotless, all her needs are taken care of, she is in a wonderful facility, which must give her family some comfort.

Betty and I chatted quietly while Isabel slept, and I just felt such a peace. I felt that her spirit was there, and strong. I loved Isabel and she loved me.

And speaking of "spirit" what really is the meaning of that word? Why do we say that spirits haunt a house? And on the other hand, someone has a strong spirit. They're "spiritual." I don't kinow.

But if anybody had a spirit, it was Isabel. Come on down the rabbit hole with me while I unwind this ball of memories. And for some of my cousins out there, some will sound familiar, and some will leave you scratching your head. This story is not a criticism in any way. And I will refer to Isabel in the past tense although she is very much with us, but these events are in the past, so that will explain that.

You know how your coffee looks when you add a dollop of cream? How it's all muddled and shape-shifting until you put a spoon in and stir it all up? And then it all becomes clear? That's kind of how I felt upon leaving the Manor, with so many memories and anecdotes of Isabel, that I had to take the time to sort them out and get my head clear.

To be fair, she was my aunt, not my mother, but she and my father had a special bond, he the oldest and she the youngest. She lived so close and visited "down home" a lot, as Momma, of course was her mother. But in a lot of ways Isabel was a steady and reassuring presence in my life and taught me as much as any mother would. And in fact she and my mother were good friends, she often spoke of my mother. It was never hidden.

In no particular order I will share some memories. Some jump right out.

As I mentioned, she was sensitive to the spelling of her name, but she also was the one who let me know that my name was spelled wrong. It was "Novah" but that got changed as soon as I started school. So it has stayed that way. Names were important to Isabel.

I have 2 birthmarks, a dime-sized dark spot on my forearm and another on the back of my leg. As a kid and later as a teenager I was terribly self-conscious of them, they seemed to make me stand out, and how ugly they felt. But Isabel must have twigged because one day she pointed one out and said, "Oh, little Nova with her little beauty marks! They are so cute and brown. I wish I had one!" And from then on, they felt special. It was like a switch was flipped. She chose the right words at the right time to change my way of thinking during perhaps a turbulent time in my young life. It's incredibly easy for teenagers to find ways to criticize themselves and Isabel turned this situation around. The birthmark on the back of my leg probably snagged me more than one boyfriend, because my skirts had to be just short enough to see it. Instead of hating the birthmarks I came to accept them and actually felt they were special. An early lesson in self-love and acceptance of things that make us different. I can thank Isabel for that valuable lesson.

Isabel had the most beautiful handwriting. Large and flowing, it was very distinctive. And she worked hard all her life, but somehow she found time to keep her hands looking so gorgeous. She has those distinctive Chaisson hands, with beautiful nails, and those nails were always perfectly manicured (by Isabel) and ALWAYS painted. Tastefully, never garish, and I never saw her without her rings on.

Isabel was a den mother, a super Mom, and she didn't suffer fools. She had a quick temper, a trait shared by many in the family. And not a bad thing either, sometimes people need to know where you stand. She also had a number of traumas in her early life, and I firmly believe these events shape us.

Again these were snippets of stories either told to me, or absorbed by me in listening to the adults.

Isabel married her first husband Joe Sheehan but lost him soon after to a brain tumor. We're talking over 60 years ago, so it must have been unheard of at the time. He died right around the same time that her father and then my father, her oldest brother died. It was all within a year or so and people didn't have any access to grief counselling. She was a pretty young widow at the time, and their little girl Betty was just a toddler, left with no dad. What a lot of grief and pain in a short time.

But it wasn't too long before Isabel caught the eye of a tall, dark and handsome neighbor that waltzed her to the altar. Joe Carpenter gave her stability, a beautiful new home that they built together, and until the day he died, he worshipped the ground she walked on. He adopted Betty, and loved her just the same as all his children. In rapid succession Isabel had five boys and then finished off the flock with another pretty little girl.

Every now and then, but not often, Isabel and Joe would go out to a dance, or somewhere for a few hours, and before all those kids were born, maybe just the first couple, I would babysit for them. And if I could draw I would take these images out of my mind and put them on paper. They are that clear.

Isabel was so pretty, and when she got tarted up, she was a doll! I remember one time, it must have been a Saturday, I went up to her house to watch her get ready to go out. Most people who know Isabel, know she was never seen without mascara on and earrings. Always earrings.

Well, this evening, she'd had her hair in pink foam rollers all day, tucked discreetly under a silky scarf. As she started to take them out, her shiny dark hair was all full and curly around her face. It was so sweet! She did her make up and then put on the prettiest dress I'd ever seen, and I can see it yet. It was white, but covered with thin pink and orange and black stripes, belted and it was about knee length. It was 3/4 sleeves, had a collar and she just looked so stylish. On with a pair of white satin pumps and a set of sparkly earrings and she was ready. She swished out to the kitchen with a handful of dress on both sides and twirled. She looked so much like the photo of Patsy Cline on a record album that I've remembered it all this time.

And speaking of records, Isabel had a sweet voice and could sing like a bird! They had a record player with a stack of LPs of artists like Patsy Cline and my all time favorite, Jim Reeves, more than one of his. But I listened to them so much, I swear that's what cultivated a love for old classic music like that to this day. That's when people could sing! A good old tune by Stonewall Jackson or Mac Wiseman anyone?

Isabel was a fantastic housekeeper, her house was spotless, and looking back, again, how did she do it? She always had her own "method" and she was organized, she had to be. Joe was a busy fisherman, but he did other jobs too. He had a number of cows for a while, we used to run down the back field to chase them up to the barn. Great fun, until the day Calamity John, aka Darrell, tripped over the step into the barn and fell and broke his arm. You talk for howling! You could hear him in Little Pond. Joe also dried Irish moss and he peeled pulp, some desperate hard ways to make some extra cash. With a family of nine, though, that's a lot of mouths! And it wasn't long before Grampie Pete moved in too, so there was a lot of work and adjustments. Isabel and I had a lot in common after that. I clearly and fondly remember the mouth-watering smell of her bread and rolls, all lined up on the counter. And her sweets were legendary! Pies and cakes, and one thing I remember in particular, "Nut Smacks," still one of my favorite things to this day. Love them with a nice cup of tea.

She was well known for her brisk walking. Now I'm a fast walker too, but even I had to trot to keep up with her, she walked like it was a cure for the cold, she was driven. She popped in frequently to visit Momma, and she loved my old wood stove. The kettle was the first thing I did every day, it had to be filled and shined up. She'd say, "Oh put on some tea will you, there must be a muffin here somewhere." So we'd have a short visit and she'd make a big deal out of my little ones, squeezing the babies and teasing them. A lot of times Momma would be having a bad day and as soon as she'd hear Isabel's voice she'd slam the bedroom door. We knew to stay out. Of course Isabel took it to heart, who wouldn't? And more than once her big green eyes would fill up with tears and she'd say, "What did I ever do? Momma doesn't even like me. Billy was always her favorite and she made a pet out of Everett." Then she'd cry and I'd cry and we both knew Momma would get over it, but again, we knew in later years that Momma was absolutely depressed. We just didn't recognize it at the time. We just dealt with the wild wind that was Momma.

Isabel and I were also pregnant at the same time, her youngest and my second. Those were good days! She also picked up knitting and crochet, but never really had the patience for it. She'd call me and say, "Can you come up and help me figure this out? I lost the pattern." And up I'd trot, and we'd figure it out. She also picked up painting and like her sister Kathleen, was very good at it.

Joe passed away several years ago and of course Isabel was devastated. He had held her together through a lot of tough times. She sure leaned on her family then.

But isn't Cupid a funny fellow? Because a few years later, her old high school sweetheart, a widower himself, came courting and swept Isabel off her little Acadian feet! Those feelings we have when we are young are extremely powerful, and this was the real thing. But as I mentioned earlier, Isabel had her share of sadness and traumas, and a week or so after the wedding, Leonard died tragically, leaving her reeling yet again. She didn't bounce back so quickly this time, and before anyone knew it, she was showing signs of dementia.

At Thanksgiving that year, my family was all gathered for dinner, and B.J. brought his new girlfriend Courtney. Isabel had popped in on her way by for her walk, and sat in for a piece of pie. We had decided to go for a walk on the flats after supper since it was low tide and Courtney hadn't been over. Well, of course Isabel came with us and she was great entertainment. But little did I know it was to be my last walk with her. Betty had called during dinner, asking if I knew where Isabel was, so I let her know she was with us for a while. And that was fine. What I didn't know was that they were missing her, unsure of where she went. Another sign of dementia. The wandering.

After my visit last week, I couldn't stop thinking about her, the legacy she is responsible for, and the things she has taught us and continues to teach us. She has a strong faith. She never complained about all the hard work she did, she just did it. When she felt the time was right, she went back to school, and came out trained to work at the Colville Manor, and that's what she did. She made a lot of friends there, many of them speak kindly of her, sometimes sharing a story of laughs and camaraderie.

Isabel didn't talk about other people, not in a gossipy way, another good thing to pass on. Respect. You have to earn it.

So to sum it all up, and no doubt some readers will also have the same kind of memories of their own aunts, Isabel is loved. She walks among us, by example, and how we conduct ourselves. And hopefully she will be with us a while, but when she is called, we will remember her with a smile. And a story. Always a story.