Don’t Worry About the Future for Dumb Reasons

Your current concerns will be history.

This is the story of my aunt and my own selfish self.

At the age of 21, I found myself concerned that I would have to look after my father’s sister at her old age.

The thing is, I loved her to bits. But I was young. I didn’t want the responsibility of taking care of an elderly person.

She didn’t have children of her own. She was like a third parent to my brothers and me, but especially to me. When my mother was pregnant with me, my naval officer father was away. My aunt slept with my mother and put her hand on her belly bump to feel my movements.

Even when we lived in different cities, she was with us for every occasion. Birthdays, the first day of school, end of year concert... She was there.

She was the first person in my family who went to university. I remember visiting her studio apartment which she shared with two other girls. They used cheap curtains to separate the apartment into little rooms. They could still talk without seeing each other. Sometimes I still wish I lived with my best friends in a whimsical house with fluttery walls.

When I wrote my first book at the age of 6, she took my writing to her office and typed it down with a typewriter. It was half a page long but professionally stapled into a cardboard cover. When I was a teenager, she took me to summer vacations. We travelled along the Aegean sea and the Mediterranean, just the two of us.

At my university years far from home, my aunt volunteered to cover my expenses. She sent me a hefty allowance every month, made sure I always had a little more than I needed.

Although she didn’t practice, she was a Muslim, a little more conservative compared to my parents. She never married or had a romantic relationship in her life. She lived with my grandmother and worked at a bank. She was happy to sponsor me because I was a good student, and I had ‘nothing’ on my mind other than my studies.

But this didn’t last. One day, I discovered life.

In my second year, I joined the photography club at the university. I went on photo shooting trips, met all these interesting people, tried alcohol for the first time. I had my first, second, and third boyfriends. Living at the dorm began feeling too restrictive and boring. And money no longer felt too much.

I was always open with my mother, but I wasn’t telling my aunt about my ‘new adventures’. I thought she would judge me if she knew about them. She wanted me to focus on my classes only, so I let her believe that I was still the same old nerdy niece of hers.

Those days, my mother and her sister were spending most of their time and energy looking after the elders on her side of the family, my grandmother, grandfather, great-grandmother, etc. This was expected from the girls, not their brother. I had no sisters but two brothers.

It suddenly dawned on me: “My aunt doesn’t have kids of her own. When she gets old, it will be my job to look after her. I will also have two parents. I will have to be a full-time caregiver.”

I didn’t want to look after anyone. I didn’t even want to have kids. I desired to be an independent woman who travels the world, does exciting stuff.

I felt a little shitty but still told my mother about my worries. Luckily she understood. She reassured me by saying “Don’t worry about these things now. Your aunt and I are still young. We will go to a nursing home when we get old.” At that time, she used to say she didn’t want to be looked after by family since she was a bit fed up dealing with older people herself.

In my third year at university, I dropped one of my most important classes, so it became apparent that I was adding one extra year. Then my friend moved out of his shared apartment, and his room was suddenly vacant. I decided to take it, so on Monday I called my aunt on the payphone and asked if she could raise my allowance so I could move into this apartment.

For the first time in my life, she said no.

She was no longer going to support me. She was already disappointed by the fact that I dropped my class. She told me to call my dad.

I was in a little shock. I said okay, thank you. Then I hung up. I had no idea this was our final conversation.

On Wednesday, I went to the office I had been working as an intern. I talked to my bosses and asked them if they could start paying me regularly since I no longer had an allowance.

They said they were happy with my work there and they offered me a permanent job! All of a sudden, I had enough income to get the room and support myself. I no longer needed my aunt or dad financially. I couldn’t believe it!

On Friday evening, my aunt got out of work and got on a minibus to go back home. The minibus got sliced by a truck.

They called my parents. My father jumped on a night bus from Istanbul to Izmit. At the morgue, he saw her slightly cupped hand resting on a table, sticking out of a white sheet. He instantly knew it was her. She was one month short of 40.

When I place my hand down on a surface the way I visualize her hand rested, I feel a sharp pain in my throat. Tears begin rolling down.

I can’t believe this was 27 years ago. It is hard to imagine that my aunt never watched any of my work on TV. She never owned a smartphone or used Facebook. She never wrote cute comments under my son’s photos, sprinkled with emojis as my mother does. Never even met him.

As a 21-year-old girl, I had no idea. All the things I worried myself with? They didn’t happen at all. Lots of other bad and good things happened. I had a son when I was 40. I moved to the other side of the world. And I miss my family dearly.

If my aunt were alive today, I would never allow her to go to a nursing home. I would take her to vacations. I would share my house with her. I would sleep with her if needed. Not because I owe her these things but because I miss her selfishly.

And if I knew any of the future awaiting us, I would stop worrying about all the wrong things.