In the Absence of Animosity | Freewrite: 8/5/22 | Prompt: A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

The trek home was sweltering. But our bounty was safely tucked away. Strawberries, figs, mayhaw, pears, and blackberries filled our baskets. We needed to hurry as midday in the summer drained our energy as well as melted our small rock of ice used to cool our harvest.

"Latricia, as the oldest, you must set an example." Aunt Mavis being the patient one of the family, stood smiling as I led my friends into the house with our bounty. No children of her own, I was ecstatic to get the opportunity to live with her.

She loved working inside the home. We laughed and cried at the antics of family, friends, and neighbors. The aroma filled the tiny house as we cooked until midnight adding spices, stirring, cooling, filling jars, and storing.

Various colors of the fruit season lined our small pantry. Aunt Mavis' cooking and baking skills were famous throughout the neighborhood.

"Fifty cents, and thank you,." she would say. The knocks at the door only yielded enough to help with replenishing canning supplies.

"That's all you ask for? We did all the work. How are we gonna get rich?" After two years, I'd become exasperated.

"You eat, sleep, drink, and have a roof over your head, don't you? Besides, we'd have much more product to sell if you all didn't eat half the fruit by the time you got home!"

I thought for a moment, then burst out laughing. We couldn't hide the evidence, especially with our red and blue tongues. She looked at me then scratched her head, pretending to count. We laughed all over again. She was so funny. At that moment, I thought, I love you more than...then paused.

Complaining to my mom once, she explained that Aunt Mavis' purpose in life was helping others.

In the third year of living with her, I realized I never wanted to return home. My desire was to learn as much as I could, document recipes, and emulate her.

The last month of summer that year I was to enroll in high school. Preparing a fresh batch of preserves, I stirred in earnest as I called to Aunt Mavis to bring more stabilizer.

No answer.

I lowered the temperature and removed the pot. The moment I cracked the pantry door, Aunt Mavis' slumped over body prevented me from entry. I hadn't heard sounds to alert me something was wrong. She looked as if merely reaching for an item on the bottom shelf.

Heart pounding, I ran to the living room and dialed for help. Looking back, I now realize that I didn't overly panic. Perhaps it was living with her these last few years that taught me to think a situation through clearly.

I returned to the kitchen, grabbed the spoon and stirred the fruit batch, then pulled out a kitchen chair and rested until the paramedics arrived.

At the hospital, the massive heart attack took her away after only a few hours on life support. I was unaware of her heart condition and other problems since childhood.

Returning to her home, my next call was to my parents since Aunt Mavis never married. I needed them to assist with her funeral services. Hesitant to call them, thoughts churned over returning to live with them until I graduated high school.

Aunt Mavis, I always felt, was more than an aunt. The lessons she taught me I was sure wasn't being taught elsewhere, especially in my parents' home. Also, since living with her, I was the recipient of most delicious foods I'd ever eaten, thus requiring larger clothes.

My parents arrived the next day.

The moment my dad stepped into her house, I could feel the sense of renewed animosity.

I didn't know the history of their relationship. All I could remember was the intense conversations they had when grandpa passed away. Selfish was all I could remember being pumped into our family's minds about my grandfather and Aunt Mavis.

My dad tried as best he could to hide it over the years. Funny thing was that she never spoke ill of him or anyone in her family. He didn't know her. Otherwise, the word "selfish" wouldn't have parted his lips.

"It's time, Mitchell." My mom nodded toward me.

Apparently, my grandfather commanded my dad and his new wife take care of me until his daughter got on her feet. But she never did get on her feet. She was a sickly woman, not able to work outside the home. They were forced to care for me less they be excluded from the small family trust.

I sat listening to the most incredible story about my Aunt Mavis. She was talented and wanted to become an actress. However, I couldn't imagine myself starting high school and finding out I was pregnant. Her dad sent her away. She returned with a baby and undetected until then heart problems. As I grew, I knew her as my Aunt Mavis.

When finished, I stood and replied in a steady and forceful, but loving voice, "I loved this woman as my own mother without knowing why or that she was my mother."

According to Aunt Mavis' attorney, she named me as her only heir. She left all her worldly possessions, house and money from the estate to me.

Effectively bypassing again my dad, I was sure the hurt from my grandfather resurfaced. This time, the cut deepened. The looks he gave pierced my heart. I could feel the hatred for his sister transferred to me. Years under his roof, I didn't understand their slightly different treatment of me. I was their niece. I loved them also. But I could see how my grandfather set the wheels of hatred in motion when he favored one and disinherited the other.

However, I followed her strict instructions of her will to donate funds to her community for the poor. I did feel the sense of loyalty and distributed portions to the only dad I knew.

I didn't want this burden placed upon me. I loved my family. I always wondered why my dad finally gave in and allowed me to stay with her. Somehow they discovered Aunt Mavis' heart condition had grown worse.

I was my Aunt's daughter. I had a hard time saying it aloud, but I could declare that now. I couldn't evoke any other feelings than of love and admiration for her.

After graduation, I had plans to return to her home and continue canning and serve the neighborhood. But my mother had other plans. She desired that I attend collage away from home in whatever field I chose.

I did go to college, but attended a local one, wanting to save most of the money for later. Securing a degree in the restaurant management industry, I returned to her home town and I used the inheritance to open a confection business.

It was always her wish to give back to her community that had been so kind to her. I was grateful she instilled that in me.

I wanted to participate in this Freewrite that is from August for the Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words. The photo that was the subject of the prompt that week reminded me of a person who loved to prepare canned jams and jellies. It reminded me of my mom. The dedication and patience it takes to prepare canned foods for your family is admirable.

Describe what you see.
Six jars of jellies, jams, and other preserved items are stored in jars on a wooden shelf. The jars are secured with craft or some type of cloth. It looks like an old fashioned way of canning and storing.

Describe what you feel.
I feel a connection with the jams and jellies as I look at them. They remind me of the many hours my mom would spend preparing the sweet goodness that would fill the jars. The storage of the preserves looks like an old fashioned way of handling them.

Write a story or poem about what you think is going on. I leave with you my story for: A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words - 8/5/22.

^{Image used with permission of contest owner}