Remembering

Last week was filled with sadness.  On Tuesday, my aunt passed away.  She's pictured at left with my uncle (my mother's only brother) in his uniform in front of the house where I grew up.  That's the neighbor's house in the photo.  For me, it was the last of my family, except for the cousins.  Of course there are many, many of those.

My uncle passed away in May, and at that time I became aware that my aunt's health was failing.  Because of her dementia, I battled with myself about going to visit her, knowing she probably wouldn't recognize me.  I couldn't convince myself that I could handle it well and, as it turned out, I didn't visit.  I'm not having any regrets.  Why?  Because I have a lot of memories of both my aunt and my uncle, and I like remembering them that way.

My aunt lived with my parents for a time just after I was born and while my uncle served in Korea.  Because I was a small baby, I don't remember it, but I do remember the stories my aunt told me over the years, of how I wouldn't go to sleep until my dad, on second shift, got home from work.

My aunt and uncle had two boys, both younger than me, and I can remember watching The Wizard of Oz for the very first time on TV, with the oldest of the boys on my lap.  I remember that around that time, my aunt was pregnant with the younger one. I remember my uncle's model and balsa airplanes hanging on strings from the ceiling in the basement and the flowers that lined the side of the house by the driveway.  That was in the first house in the city where I remember them living.  After that, they moved to a house in the country, where my uncle farmed what had been land owned by my grandparents.

My aunt's best friend's daughter, who is three years older than I am, had come to live with them and became their legal ward.  I can remember the staircase in that old farmhouse and a few other things, but what I remember most about those times was going to our great aunts' and uncles' homes for holidays.  That's when we all had fun!  Then there were the family reunions.  I especially remember one where the older of the boy cousins broke his arm.

My aunt loved to sew and taught me how one summer when I spent two weeks on the farm with them.  I was as proud as can be of the ruffled apron I made, and even prouder a couple of years later when my 4-H entry (a simple top and matching gathered skirt) earned a 2nd place ribbon at the State Fair.  Later, she turned to crafts, sewing dolls, stuffed toys, and other items, while my uncle did woodcrafting.

When my cousins were grown, my aunt and uncle moved to a house on Table Rock Lake near Branson, Mo., and my then husband and I and our daughters visited at least once a year.  Later on, they bought a fifth-wheel travel trailer and a big motorcycle.  With one to live in on the road and the other to see the road on, they traveled the U.S. and Canada, having a ball.  They loved Indianapolis and watching the races, and since their oldest son had moved to Alabama, they frequented the track at Talladega.

After returned to small town living where they were nearer their family, they wintered in Florida in their fifth-wheel and returned home in the summer to help with harvest.  They both enjoyed their grandkids to the max and will be missed, always, by all of them and by me.

In my mind, I can see them sitting around the table with my uncle's parents, my mother and dad, their uncles and aunts, and other family who have all gone before them, playing pitch and having the time of their afterlives.  No sense in telling them to rest in peace.  They're having too much fun to want to rest.