My Aunt Teresa came from the orphanage to my mother's house as a servant. I hadn't been born yet.
Abandoned by her own mother during WWII and verbally and physically abused by the nuns running the orphanage, Aunt Teresa grew up with very low self-esteem.
Eventually she married my (mentally ill) uncle, my mother's oldest brother. But her role as a servant never quite changed. As the size of the household grew, she worked for easily 18 hours a day. Back-breaking work. Even as a child, I observed that she had very little respect from the people who were supposed to be her family, the only family she ever had.
I made a point to praise her. It evolved into a lifelong motto of giving credit where credit is due.
There was very little commending from the rest of the family, the least of all my mother (I should know).
Fast forward a few decades. Aunt Teresa is in a home after she broke her femur and is no longer bipedally mobile. My parents are in their 80's and aging rapidly. I am 6,000 miles away, as I have been since I was 16.
Even before Aunt Teresa was confined to a home, reaching her was challenging as she never learned to use a smart phone. After her mother-in-law and husband passed away, she had been living alone for a long while, in a flat with 4 bedrooms and two baths (very generous in that part of the world). A space of ghosts and quietude. Of course, she had her friends from church, and she did her volunteer work 7 days a week, more dedicated than you would a regular job. But when I would visit, I could see the blankness behind those eyes sometimes. Nothing can take the place of family, even if they have mistreated you in the past.
During COVID lockdown, for extended periods of time the home did not allow visitors at all. I shudder to imagine the isolation one must feel. After reopening, my parents gradually ceased to be as mobile as they used to be. Eventually they are not able to visit Aunt Teresa even if they want to. I tend to feel that, for all that Aunt Teresa has suffered and sacrificed for, both as a Roman Catholic and a human being, her God certainly has not rewarded her with much. I know that the one thing she's craved is love. She hasn't had her fair share. She will spend her final years alone, without family, just as she did as a child.
Yesterday, my cousin Jojo, the only person who is still able to visit Aunt Teresa semi-regularly, shared with us in a group chat a couple of photos of Aunt Teresa showing off a multimedia piece of art she had created: a tin decorated with many colorful, shiny trinkets. It was really quite attractive. Jojo said Aunt Teresa seemed proud of her work. As she should be, I thought. I felt proud of her. Wish I could tell her in person.
My mother and an aunt in the group started to chime in, actually praising Aunt Teresa.
"So talented!" My mother exclaimed. "I had no clue!"
I was incredulous. NOW you have nice things to say? Aunt Teresa would never see these praises as she does not own a smart phone. And her memory is fading. If you fill her in a week after the fact, it likely does not mean much.
Where was this approval when she needed it in decades past?
But these days sometimes I stop the judgment and wonder: what caused a person's behavioral pattern? Those stingy with praises probably did not receive praises themselves growing up.
So. Much. Hurt. We deal each other.