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She had a deep and abiding love for the younger people. Coming up hard herself, had given her that most precious of gift—The gift of understanding.The years of the 1930's passed slowly. All the families developed a closeness. No one had much but they were always willing to share what they did have with others.Aunt Bessie in time became the go-to person when anyone was ill. She knew how to help deliver babies, nurse people back to health. People trusted her judgment in most everything else as well.I could go on forever writing about Aunt Bessie's amazing acts as a mother, caregiver, counselor, and most of all a friend; but one unforgettable incident—though the decades have come and gone—remains forever fresh in my memory.I guess at this point, it's time for me to clear something up. I'm one of the few people who didn't call her Aunt Bessie.You see—the person everyone called Aunt Bessie—Well, I called her Mom.The Winter of 1938Winters in the Midwest are always bitter cold. That winter. Moments later I found myself alone in the safety of my shower. I was ashamed that I left Tyler without a word of explanation, yet the fire burning in my loins was still there, and I just had to put it out. Two fingers of my right hand curled in and out of my sex, while my left hand was pressed against the tile wall for support. When I came, it was not the face of my husband that I saw, but that of my loving son. For some reason, after my orgasm I broke down in tears and began sobbing silently as I tried to come to terms with my tattered emotions. Knowing in just hours Tyler would be gone and I may not see him again for months, I was filled with immense sadness. It took ages to finally fall asleep that evening as I just could not stifle all the mixed emotions I was feeling. In the morning Tyler packed up his car, and Don and I saw him off without much fanfare. I was on pins and needles, afraid I might do something to reveal just how distressed I really was. I longed to embrace him.
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