My Forever Young "Aunt," A Tribute

I held a jewel in my fingers

And went to sleep.

The day was warm, and winds were prosy;

I said: "Twill keep."

I woke and chid my honest fingers,--

The gem was gone;

And now an amethyst remembrance

Is all I own.

--Emily Dickinson

We called her Re Re, and she was ours.

With her trademark platinum blonde curls and statuesque figure, Rhea Marie Bazur reveled in showering attention on her seven nieces and nephews: Brian, Michelle, Jack, Kevin, Lori, Betsy, and Angie. She called them her seven "lover buttons." Re Re and my mother Ruth were first cousins, born only three months apart, and grew up like sisters. By virtue of that closeness I was designated the eighth "lover button," lucky enough to see her more often than my cousins who lived in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Re Re and her mother (my great aunt Loretta) would often babysit for me when my parents snuck out for a date on Saturday nights.

In the early 1990's, Re Re dancing
in front of our Christmas tree

Those sleepovers became a highlight of my childhood. In the early to mid 1970's Saturday night television stood as a beacon of entertainment with All in the Family, Mary Tyler Moore, and Carol Burnett making everyone in America laugh out loud. Re Re and Loretta would play games with me in the early evening and then we'd tune into our favorite shows and snuggle on the white leather couch, the glow of the hearth warming us nearby. For a then shy, quiet seven-year-old boy without any siblings, their love and affection was worth gold. We'd prepare root beer floats in time for Carol Burnett to emerge and answer questions from the studio audience. Sometimes I'd fall asleep in their laps as they rubbed my back or ran their fingers through my hair.

While devoted to family, Re Re had a life of her own.  She worked in the accounting department for Standard Oil. Never married, she had a posse of girlfriends, and some guy friends.  She loved playing golf, would join in a game of tennis now and then to placate my mom, took ski vacations to exotic places like Yugoslavia, and loved to dance, embracing disco as if it were the next form of the jitterbug and in later years showcasing a bumper sticker that read "I'd Rather Be Dancing" on the back of her white Trans Am.

Re Re loved bright colors, and like my mom, enjoyed fashion and dressing up. She gobbled up pop culture. I remembered spotting Valley of the Dolls on her bookshelf and knowing even at age eight it was a scandalous, sexy novel. She liked reading about Hollywood and celebrities, much like I did, as evidenced by her collection of Photoplay, and later Star, magazines. I loved that even into the 1980's she told me she liked listening to the radio so she could keep up on the latest music. While she saw classic entertainers like Frank Sinatra and Beverly Sills in concert, she never lost interest in what was new and happening.

16 year old niece Angie and Re Re raid the
attic closet and go vintage for the camera

While we shared frivolous interests in music and entertainment, Re Re also imbued in me some important life lessons. One summer afternoon in 1975 en route to a family vacation I threw a banana peel out the back window of her lemon Dodge Dart. She pulled the car over. "Jackie," she began, "I'm surprised at you. We don't litter on our highways. Don't ever do that again." I felt embarrassed and ashamed, that somehow I'd disappointed her.  I never threw a piece of trash out the window of a car, much less trashed the environment thanks to her light, appropriate approach to seizing a teaching moment.

A child of the Great Depression Rhea conserved resources and often demonstrated parsimonious behavior. Whenever we visited McDonald's, a big treat for a kid in the 70's, she would ask to share my chocolate shake. I begrudgingly would allow her to take sips, understanding down deep that it was good to share, but also wanting my own. I laugh now, recalling my frustrated reaction. Maybe she was conscious of her budget, or simply wanted to watch her waistline on that statuesque figure she maintained for so long. Whatever, I learned how sharing brought people together.

I'm most grateful for her youthful, optimistic energy. Re Re took the time to spoil us with her attention without the distraction of her  own brood to mind. I would pull out the chalk board and play teacher while she and great aunt Loretta took on the roles of dutiful students. I recited by memory the entire story of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs while they gave me their devoted attention and applauded my storytelling abilities. In later years we'd travel to Huntington Beach or Lakewood Park on Lake Erie and sit by the water enjoying the sound of waves and wind, or just soak in the sunshine, one of our favorite activities. Re Re's freckles all connected into one glorious tan, which she prized.

In 1997, Re Re left Cleveland to settle in Fort Wayne, closer to her most immediate family, my godparents and her seven nieces and nephews. She lived independently for several years and then moved into assisted living as her memory worsened. The last seven years she needed graduated nursing care. I visited her most recently in 2010 to celebrate her 91st birthday. I brought a cake, and she blew out the candles. She recognized me the minute I arrived. Pointing to the gray in my temples, she instructed me "to get rid of that." Neither she nor Mom were fans of "going silver." I laughed, and imagined my mother might have done the same. Young at heart, they both liked keeping up youthful appearances.

Mom, Re Re, and Me,  Cleveland, 1997

I'd made tentative plans to travel back to the Midwest in April to celebrate Re Re's 95th birthday. She'd recently moved to a new care facility and according to my cousin her demeanor and awareness had improved. Last Sunday morning I received word from my cousin Lori that dear Re Re, agitated and pale, was rushed by ambulance to Emergency. Lori arrived in time to gaze into the loving eyes of our childhood inspiration one last time before she drifted off to eternity.

Full of life, color, verve and vivacity, Re Re struck a unique chord in all our lives. She will be missed greatly. And yet like all great loves, she lives on, forever young.