It’s been a long time since I’ve written a post here. Honestly…I’ve been avoiding it. There are things I want to write about, and things I would feel guilty writing about, and some of those are the same. It’s hard for me to want to sit down and write, when I feel like I can’t talk about some of the things that have hit me the hardest.
Early June, I lost a very important person to me. My great-aunt was an amazing woman; kind, generous with her time, advice, and resources, incredibly gifted, and one of the most important people in my life.
But I didn’t act like that. I didn’t visit as often as I wanted. I didn’t call or email regularly. She taught me how to knit and spin, and honestly opened up an entire world for me. Through the skills she taught me, I made so many friends, some of whom are my closest friends today. She gave me a way to open a conversation when meeting new people. She gave me something to occupy my mind when J was overseas.
It could never be said that she had an easy life. The universe threw so much at her, but she took everything it sent, and stood solid in her faith and faced it all head-on, and many times with a smile. She is the strongest person I have ever known. She never let anything slow her down.
But I feel like an imposter. I’m not her child, or even grand-child. I’m a more distant relative. So I feel guilty for mourning her this much; as if it isn’t my right to do so. I have hesitated writing anything about it because I am so worried taht someone will say “you couldn’t care as much as you say. You only saw her twice a year.” Or “You’re not family. You don’t have this right.” But the fact is, I did rely on her. Even if it was just relying on the comfort of knowing she was *there.* And now she’s not.
I love you, Aunt Marie. And I’m sorry I didn’t show it better.