My Aunt died today.  I am wrecked.  I have been thinking about our story, mine and hers.  One of my earliest memories was of her love. Her…tickling my back, for what seemed like hours, tirelessly, selflessly…loving on me. She always called me a priss pot, I took that as a compliment…never occurred to me that it wasn’t one. I spent a lot of my childhood at her house, I played there, spent the night there. It was my second home. I asked my mom to please, please let my aunt adopt me, she wasn’t offended. She wasn’t offended because she had grown up with very little love, and she could see the love that I shared with my aunt…it was worth something, it was valuable.

                   Every time I spent the night my aunt would put me to bed, after much stalling from me, and I would hold her and say- please sleep with me, and she would laugh, never waivering, and say- You are so silly,  I have to sleep with my husband ! I didn’t understand it then. I do now. They had a good marriage, he was her person, her knight in shining armor.

    My memories of her are sweet, they are wrapped up in fried chicken and cole slaw, harlequin romances, and laughter. My aunt and my mom were the best of friends, and they would laugh, sometimes staying up all night laughing. I never really knew or understood what was so funny, it didn’t really matter. My world was at peace, I would fall asleep to the sound of their laughter on more than one occasion. I hope that my kids are so lucky as that. As I grew up, and away I got busy being a mom,and all that comes with it…and for reasons that are all my own, I didn’t see her enough. I never stopped loving her, or remembering her. She made a huge impact in my life, and she will continue to do so. Until I see her again…