Her last name was Shamgochian but to everyone she was Auntie. . She had a feckless ne’er do well nephew named George, who never had a job for long and didn’t visit very often. But in the Armenian community I grew up in she was Auntie to everyone. She was an archetypal older Armenian lady: on the heavy side, always dressed in black, grey hair pulled back into a bun, wire rimmed glasses, big chunky shoes and, of course, a substantial mustache.

Everyone visited Auntie. She lived alone in a third floor walk up-dark drapes, dark furniture and doilies everywhere. But what made Auntie’s very special for the little boy that was me was that every flat surface in her little home had a bowl of sweets on it. There were Jordan almonds, Turkish delight, M&Ms, chocolate covered nuts, mints and on and on. Auntie didn’t speak very much English but she would always greet me with a smothering hug and the exclamation, “Look, Georgie, cahndy” as if it was the first time I’d ever been there. My mother would try halfheartedly to intervene and explain that I wasn’t allowed to have sweets but Auntie would just say,”Yes, Yes,” then whisper something in Armenian to me while holding the bowl out for me to take more. When you went to Auntie’s you ate sweets-end of discussion.

Of course the sweets were just a prelude to the pastry; paklava, hadieff and whatever other Armenian pastry was in season. For every time of the year Armenians have foods that are mandatory.

Auntie was extraordinarily gifted at needlework and was always working on many projects. As she got older and her eyesight failed, this became harder and harder for her, but she persisted. Mostly she knitted elaborate Afghan blankets which she always gave away. One time when we went to visit in her later years, she presented my mother with a beautiful blanket which she had just finished. My mother kept refusing to take it because she knew that Auntie didn’t have much and could use the money from selling it. But Auntie just kept saying over and over, “No, no, I give, I give.” Because that’s what Auntie did, she gave. When you went to visit her you were visiting pure kindness in the form of an old Armenian lady.

So we brought the Afghan home and it always had a prominent place in the living room, ready for naps and chilly nights. Whenever I was sick as a child, and I was sick a lot, my mother would wrap me in Auntie’s Afghan and I would feel Auntie’s kindness and believe that I was going to get better.
Just recently I fell ill and was discouraged about my recovery. I was very tired and when I lay down to rest I wrapped myself in Auntie’s Afghan and knew without a doubt, that soon I would feel better.