Calvin Synod Herald, 2005 (106. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
2005-09-01 / 9-10. szám
CALVIN SYNOD HERALD 9 Néne is home now For as long as I can remember, I have always called Aunt Annie my “Néne.” That is the Hungarian word for aunt. For me, though, that was just her name. When my sister and I were children, every Saturday, my father would drop all of us off at Néne’s house on Lardette. My mother would take a bus to the market, while Néne babysat the two of us. My most vivid memory of that time is lying on her front porch swing. It was a hot summer afternoon. I had been fussing because mom had left to go somewhere without me. I had my head in Néne’s lap and she was stroking my forehead as the cool breeze ruffled my hair. Even now, when I close my eyes, I can still feel her loving hand on my brow as she would say, “Shhhhh. Go to sleep now, Sandy. You’ll feel better after a nap.” Néne took my mother in after my grandmother died and gave her a place to stay. She was always watching out for her. She was always watching out for all of us. For every birthday, every special occasion, every milestone in my life, my Néne found a way to make me feel special. When she made Christmas cookies or stuffed cabbage or other Hungarian treats, she usually made enough to send some home for our family. She and my mother were so close that they would talk to each other on the phone every day when she was still at home. About two and a half years ago, Néne fell in her bathtub and lay there for a whole day before anyone found her. She had broken her hip. She was in the hospital for awhile recovering. Although her bones eventually healed, her short-term memory was never the same after that. She could remember the past with astonishing clarity - names, dates, people, places - but her memory of what happened an hour earlier or even 10 minutes earlier was sketchy at best. That was when Mom and I got into the habit of visiting her every Sunday and every Wednesday. She seemed to like the routine of our visits so we never stopped, even when she returned home from the hospital, and then subsequently had to go back to The Greens Nursing Home to live permanently. Néne had always been there for us; this was our chance to be there for her. During our visits, she would regale us with stories from her past: memories of her mother and father (my grandparents); the Hungarian dances she and her sister, Margaret, attended as young girls; stories of my mother as a child and her other brothers and sisters; vacations in Florida with her beloved husband and their dog, Otto; the antics of her children, grandchildren and greatgrandchildren; and all the other happy times in her life. They were stories we heard over and over again yet never tired of hearing because she told them with such vibrant word pictures as if she were re-living each memory as she shared them with us. Sometimes we would sing Hungarian songs or church hymns with her. Often we would laugh together. Always we would end our visits with The Lord’s Prayer. While Néne was in the nursing home, she would often say that she just wanted to go home. Sometimes I didn’t know if she meant home to her house in South Euclid or “Home” to be with the Lord. There were times when she would hug me an extra long time when we said goodbye, as if she were afraid that this would be the last time we would see each other. I would hug her back even longer, with tears in my eyes, wondering if maybe it was. The last time we saw Néne, she was in so much pain. We sat by her bedside and prayed over her. We didn’t know how else to help her. Suddenly, though, I found myself getting up from the chair and standing beside her bed. I began gently stroking her forehead and telling her nearly word-for-word what she had said to comfort me on that shady porch on a hot summer afternoon some 45 years earlier, “Shhhhh. Go to sleep now, Néne. You’ll feel better if you rest.” “Isten veled, Néne.” “Isten veletek,” she whispered. The Lord blessed us richly by giving us these last few years of Néne’s life to show her how much we loved her - each of us finding our own unique way to convey that love. He called her Home on July 7, 2005, nineteen days before her 90th birthday. I thank God for my dear Néne and for the special memories of her that live on in my heart. When the Lord calls His children Home, it is a time for Christians to rejoice, because it is then that believers receive their final reward. Yet, it is also a time of sadness for those of us who are left behind with broken hearts. Our comfort - our assurance - though, comes from our unshakable faith in the promises of God - that one day, His children will all be together again as, one by one, we are each called Home to stand in glory with Jesus, our Lord and Savior. Jesus, whose death on the cross redeemed our souls. Jesus, whose blood washed away our sins. Jesus, who waits to call each of us Home to Paradise. You’re Home now, Néne. In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.... (John 14:2) Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who according to His abundant mercy has begotten us again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible and undefiled and that does not fade away, reserved in heaven for you, who are kept by the power of God through faith for salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. (1 Peter 1:3-5) And the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will Himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast. To Him be the power for ever and ever. Amen. (1 Peter 5:10-11) For my Néne (Anne Osterman) with love, Sandy Mansell
