JEAN'S GENES

aunty jean's real name is diane
but no-one calls her that
for reasons unknown or lost in time
she likes to be addressed as jean
aunty jean is my dad's younger cousin
she is a good eight years my mum's junior
but mum is often embarrassed when people ask if jean is her mother
one of the most striking things about jean
is her constant babble of rambling incoherent speech
very much like a person vocalising their thought processes out loud
which is perhaps what it is
jean also has a severe speech impediment
which takes a lot of getting used to
and makes understanding her extremely difficult
by way of example
'aunty rose' comes out as 'aunty owl'
what does aunty jean mean? asks a puzzled hannah...
jean lives in a care home across the city
once a month my folks take her out for the day
each day follows a familiar pattern
they pick jean up in the car
take her for lunch in a cafe
they go shopping for routine items in a suburban high street or mall
finally it's back to the house for tea
salmon sarnies, cake and trifle
apart from the difficulties she has making herself understood
jean has other problems:
a pronounced stoop from bad posture
severe alopecia and a bleeding scalp
caused by her pulling out her own hair
week legs and painful feet
meaning that she has to use a zimmer-frame-on-wheels contraption
and shuffles along at a painfully slow speed...
like her mobility
jean's field of interest is extremely restricted
a few things that register:
cats
family
knitting
old photographs of brum taken from the fifties onwards
the various 'aunties' who work at her care home
some things that pass under the radar:
popular culture in general
music
sport
opinions
topical events
the wider world beyond the care home
this also places limits on conversations...
jean suffered brain damage as a baby
my dad's uncle and his wife looked after her
until they passed away twenty years ago
and she found her way into a care home run by a trust
as a child i never saw her
the only evidence that diane (as she was called then) existed
came from an annual christmas card scrawled in clumsy capitals
more recently my parents have gradually got to know her better
got used to her ways
her needs
her interests and limitations
jean obviously looks forward to her days out
pencilling them into her diary
no sooner than she has sunk into her favourite armchair...
i used to resent the visits from this cuckoo
barging into the family nest
on day release from the closet
with her strange babbling and routines
intruding as if from nowhere on our lives
i even shamefully remember making a real fuss
about her coming round one boxing day
now that i have come to understand aunty jean a bit more
i realise that she is as lovable as anyone else
and heartily regret my selfishness and stupidity