14. Tante

My Magical Pointe

If you love me, like I love you, no knife can cut our love in two. — Rudyard Kipling, An Old Song, (Tante would say this to me at bedtime)

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Tante was special to me from the beginning. I first knew her from the hospital as a hand to hold, a squeeze when the pain came, a cool cloth on my forehead to make more more comfortable, a story read to me before bed so I could fall asleep, and a constant presence during the dark hours after surgery. She was my defender when tensions were the most high between my parents. She had only one interest — my health and welfare. With no children of her own, she adopted me emotionally and even sought to legally adopt me at one point, but that was not meant to be. My father was opposed to anyone who wished to meet my needs over his own. So Tante maintained neutrality and focused on being there for me when my father couldn’t (or wouldn’t). That was how she was able to stay involved in my life for many years, influencing me in innumerable, positive ways.

Tante was the only one in my father’s family that I really got to know. My father had alienated all of his relatives before I was born, so I never really got to know anyone on his side of the family aside from Tante. Even my Grandmother Christine was barely involved in my care while she was alive and passed when I had just turned three, so the memories of her faded fast. I didn’t understand who Tante was in my family tree exactly and, when explained to me, it wasn’t really any clearer. She was Christine’s first cousin, which made her my first cousin twice removed. I remember trying to figure that concept out as a kid, but gave up and didn’t worry about it. I just called her Tante, her preferred moniker, which was French for aunt, and knew she loved me.