My Dear Friend

Who are your friends? Are they only those of your own age group? Read a youth’s account about one of her friends, who is about seven decades older than she.

OUR family moved to Aberdeen, Scotland, about nine years ago, when I was only six. This was a frightening time for me because I had to start in a new school and I had to make new friends. But something gently eased me into my new situation. An older lady, whom my parents had met once before, lived just around the corner from us. I was duly introduced and soon was surprised to find how interesting she was. She was young at heart, and she dressed with a beautiful elegance.

The house we were staying in was rented, so we moved to a permanent home about a mile from Auntie Louie’s. I use the expression “auntie” out of respect and as a term of endearment. I was sad when we had to move, for my brother and I had begun to visit her regularly.

However, the school I attended was just around the corner from Auntie Louie’s house. So every Friday after classes ended and before I went to my evening Scottish Country Dancing practice at the school, I went to Auntie’s for tea. This became my routine. I would bring one of my storybooks along, and she would read to me while I ate cucumber sandwiches and drank a glass of cool milk.

I remember that Fridays seemed to drag by as I waited in eager anticipation for the 3:30 p.m. bell, which was a signal to fly to Auntie Louie’s. It was at this time that I first learned how interesting and fun older people can be. In fact, I didn’t view her as old. In my mind she was quite young. She could drive, and she kept a sweet-smelling home and a garden—what more does a child want?

Three years passed, and I was in the last year of primary school. This is when Auntie Louie decided that her garden was getting a bit too much for her and that a flat was a more realistic option. At the time I could not grasp the concept of aging. I was upset that her flat was in a different part of town. Fridays never held the same charm for me as they had before.

In 1990 my move to secondary school loomed. What would I do in such a big school? How would I cope? I was to go to a different school from my friends, as our family lived in a different area. But again Auntie Louie was there because the flat that she had moved to was right next to my secondary school! I asked her if I could come to her flat at lunchtime to eat my sandwiches. Thus another precious routine was established.

I believe that this is when our relationship changed from a child-adult relationship to a mutual enjoyment of each other’s company. This was evident in many ways, but one way in particular was when we started to read the classics together—Jane Eyre, Villette, Pride and Prejudice, and The Woman in White—instead of my storybooks. My taste had matured.

Auntie Louie taught me that a love for people is a skill and an art. If it had not been for her, I may not have realized that till I was much older. She taught me to listen, and many people in this too-busy world never learn that, whether old or young. As I curl up on her sofa, she tells me stories of her life and experiences she has had. I feel warmed by the irresistible knowledge this lady has.

Auntie Louie gave up much—marriage, children, a career—to look after her parents and her aunt through traumatic illnesses. This enabled her younger brother to remain in the full-time ministry.

Over the past two years, Auntie Louie has been failing in health, and I can see the frustration, hardship, and pain that old age brings. Recently, at the age of 84, she had to give up driving, and this has tried her a great deal. She was used to a very active life, and now being tied to her home is so frustrating. She has had to battle with the feeling that she is bothering people. No matter how many times we tell her that we love her and that we would do anything for her, she still feels guilty.

What makes it worse now is that it is difficult for her to wash and dress herself. Even though she has done this for others, it is a trial now to find herself in need of such assistance. This is teaching me that even when people can’t do everything for themselves, they still deserve our respect.

Above all else, however, this experience has helped me to understand what it is like to grow older. Every single thing that Auntie Louie can no longer do makes me cry. Most of all, when I see her frustrated or in bad pain, I want to cry and cry. What I regret especially is that all her wisdom may not be enjoyed and appreciated by another child younger than I am.

Sometimes I wonder whether I do enough for her. Does she enjoy and love me as much as I do her? But when I go for lunch and give her a hug, all doubts disappear.

I feel honored to have such a friend. She has taught me so many fine qualities—most of all she has taught me love. I would not swap her friendship for that of a hundred friends my own age. Although I will soon leave school and won’t be going to lunch at her flat anymore, I will never stop loving, visiting, and assisting my dear friend. She has taught me that life can be happy and fulfilling if you think of others before yourself.—Contributed.

[Picture on page 26]

With Auntie Louie