SAA - significant childhood incident

Summer Lessons

Aaron Shaye Aubertin was born on the first day of
December in 1971. I walked downtown after school that day to see my mom at the jewelry store where she worked.  I was sitting on a stool at the soda fountain when Mom told me that I was an aunty. The day was magical for me. Christmas was not far off, and I had been admiring a music box that I was hoping to find under the tree. Snow was falling softly on the sidewalks, and I couldn’t wait to meet my new nephew.  I knew being an aunt for the first time was going to change my life – I just didn’t know how much.

 Even though he was born with the first snow, Aaron was summer to me.  He was 21 months old in the summer of ’73. I had just become a teenager; not too young to learn responsibility and not too old to play like a child. My brother, Brad was working for my dad, logging in the woods.  I was learning to babysit that summer, and I loved taking care of Aaron. Brad had just moved back to the area with his wife, Connie, and little Aaron. They lived across the river on the Colville Indian Reservation, but they were often at our house in Wilbur. It was a powerful feeling, being so loved by a child and loving him as much in return. 

 The last time I held him was that warm summer night, August 16, 1973.  He was giggling as I chased him, on all fours, weaving in and out of the dining room table legs. Aaron could walk, but we were crawling and rolling on the floor. There were hugs, kisses and tickles, as his mop of blond hair messily framed his tanned face, accentuating vivid blue eyes. Aaron was a beautiful little boy. That is how I will forever see him – all dimples and tiny, white teeth, shining like the sun. I loved him with my whole heart. It was late that evening when they decided to leave. My dad told them to spend the night, but they wanted to get home. 

The next morning I woke up and sensed an unusual amount of activity in the normally quiet, old house. I walked down the stairs to the sound of the vacuum cleaner and women’s voices.  Several of my mom’s friends were there cooking and cleaning and I heard Mom say,  “This is going to be really hard for Nancy.” A parade of casseroles and salads was coming through the front door. Mom put her arm around me, and we sat down on the piano bench where Aaron loved to roll his little matchbox cars. That is where I was when I heard the news that would forever alter our family.  Mom said, “I have some bad news. Brad and Aaron died last night. They were hit by a drunk driver on their way home. Connie is in critical condition. We don’t know if Connie will live, but they are doing all they can for her.”  I didn’t know at that moment what loss was – but I learned quickly.

People don’t always say the right things during moments of sadness, especially to a child. One of the women took me by the hand into my parents’ room. She sat me on the bed and said, “Don’t worry about Aaron not being baptized. God wouldn’t punish a baby for the sins of his parents.” I hadn’t asked - there was no doubt in my mind that Brad and Aaron were in heaven. Loss makes a young girl aware of how fragile life is and turns a happy summer into a time of tragedy. That morning I saw my father cry for the first time, and I saw strength in my mother that I could have never imagined.