The Valley of the Shadow...

When you lose someone you love, you gain an angel that you know  

My aunt passed away earlier this week, and I flew to Knoxville, Tennessee to be with family.  Upon arrival, I proceeded to the rental car counter. I was quickly informed that although I had a reservation for a sedan, the only vehicles left were trucks (as in “pick-up”), and mini vans (as in soccer mom).  I threw a fit that my 2-year-old grandgirl would have been proud of.  I mercilessly flirted with the clueless 18-year-old attendant.  I got my sedan.  I chuckled all the way out of the parking garage, scripting the details of how I would word this hilarity into my next blog.

I picked up my mother, and drove with her to the motel.  I considered how I would describe the Bates Motel-esque structure once I had a moment to write.  I phoned my siblings who were still on their way, to remind them that since I had her to myself, I was now Mom’s favorite.  At least until they arrived.  We laughed.  The next morning I enjoyed breakfast with Sib #1, Sib #2, and Mother.  We had a pleasant morning, right up until the point we walked into the funeral home…    

Looking into the faces of my grieving cousins, I could feel the numb exhaustion emanating from each of them.  My uncle has lost the love of his life, and looks like he wants to crawl up into the casket with my aunt.  He is broken.  My sibs and I sit in a pew next to my grieving mother, and feel a helpless familiarity. 

I think about the excruciating process of letting go of a parent, and how your heart wants so badly for them to stay, but your head wants and needs for them to go.  Though the weeks and months of illness would seem to prepare the family for the end, it just doesn’t work that way.  I flash back to 12-year-old Offspring #1 writing a letter to no one in particular about how unfair cancer is.  I think about young Offspring #2 naming a new pet after his Papaw, hoping desperately that some part of his beloved grandfather had reincarnated to a namesake rat.  I remember the look on each of their faces as we walked into the funeral home where my Dad lay, and their tears at the reality of the permanence of this void. 

We spend the afternoon at Aunt’s house, talking with family members we haven’t seen in years.  Throughout the afternoon, over and over I hear, “remember when…”  It’s salve on their hurting hearts, and for a short while, the family is distracted.  We laughed at how Aunt would have loved that this was all about her. 

I remember meeting Aunt when I was 7 years old.  She and Uncle had just moved their family from Hawaii, and were coming to our house for my sister’s wedding.  I was so excited to meet this mystery relative… I left notes all over the house to greet them in case I wasn’t right there when they arrived.  I felt like I was awaiting the arrival of a celebrity.  She was beautiful- tall and lithe, with a personality that would light up the room.  Her laugh was infectious.  When she told a story, she repeated it again just for effect.  Maybe twice if it was funny.  She messed up the punch line to every joke she ever told- which made it all the more hysterical.  She and my mother had an amazing bond, and my mother loved her more than anyone on the planet. 

The funeral was the next day.   Grandchildren contributed to the service, with communion and scripture reading.  Aunt was surely smiling.  A song that Aunt had requested was played near the end, and it was heart wrenching.  This is the point where I realize the enormity of my mother’s loss.  Aunt was her last relative.  Aunt was her best friend.  Aunt was now gone.  My mother cried like I’d never seen before.  Heart wrenching.  

That afternoon visiting with the family, I thought about how difficult it was going to be for my cousins to get back to reality.  I looked at the children and knew that this death would impact each of them.  I envied as the sons-in-law oscillated between caring for the details and consoling their spouse.  I looked at my mother and saw the pain of losing her last relative.  I glanced at my siblings, unwilling to even imagine life without each of them. 

I went for a walk and called my boys.  I rolled my eyes and felt ashamed that I thought a particular vehicle and six pair of shoes were necessary for this trip.  I found my mother to hug her and tell her that I love her.  I am blessed to have her.

RIP Aunt Bobbie...

Go rest high on that mountain
Son, you work on earth is done
Go to heaven a shoutin'
Love for the Father and Son