My Aunt Connie passed away earlier this afternoon, four years after undergoing her first chemotherapy treatment. She was – and is – an amazing woman who somehow managed to be strong in the face of a disease that would have rendered others hopeless. This past summer, she and my Uncle Ric stayed at our family camp on Sacandaga Lake. Aunt Connie told me that she always felt better being up in the mountains. When I talked with my uncle on the phone this evening, he told me she was afraid she wouldn’t get to see the lake again and how grateful she was to have spent the summer there with her family.
She had a passion for antiquing, for crafts, for her children and grandchildren and nieces and nephews. She and my uncle were more in love than I imagined possible. I remember that when my grandmother died, Aunt Connie was the one who took care of my sister and me (at the ages of 11 and 8) throughout the wake – kept us out of trouble and made us smile and helped us to remember all of the good times. One time this summer, I mentioned that I was having bad cramps due to my period, and she offered me some of her pain killers. Even when she was in pain, she was worried about the welfare of others.
Aunt Connie was surrounded by her family when she died. She was comfortable and at peace. All but one of my cousins are with my uncle in Florida right now – my cousin Carolyn is flying in tonight with her girlfriend. The funeral is being held on Sunday. My uncle says that it won’t be to mourn her leaving, but to celebrate her life. That’s what she would have wanted.
I know that she loved me and she knew I loved her, so I don’t have any real regrets. I just wish that I could have given her a hug before she went home to Florida at the end of the summer. I had a cold at the time, and her immune system was compromised, so I couldn’t get too close… Still, I think she knows that I’m hugging her in my mind now.
If you have a moment, please spare a prayer or a good thought for my aunt, my uncle, and everyone who was blessed enough to have her in their lives. Also, give a hug and a kiss to your family, tell them you love them; I think my Aunt Connie would like that.
I think Connie’s got a great view of the lake now.
Hunny, you are my reason for living. Mom, Dad, I love you. Amy, Larry and Leslie: I couldn’t ask for more special siblings than you. Matthew and Enjoli, always in my heart and mind.
Jessica, what a beautiful post. I too had a lovely Aunt Connie who died of cancer, in her beloved mountains, with family & friends close. It was snowing the day we were to bury her.
I always have a spare prayer for special people, consider it done.
Thank you all for your kind thoughts and posts. It’s been a rough day, but I think we’ll pull through.
I spent most of the day at the university counseling center, talking to my psychologist and crying and just trying to figure things out. I don’t think I’ll be able to go down for the funeral, although I want to be there for everyone and have a chance to say goodbye. My uncle and my mom told me that they thought my aunt wouldn’t want me to be crying, she’d want me to be going to classes and getting good grades so she and my grandmother could brag about me in heaven. (I skipped psych to go to Mass this afternoon, but I think that’s acceptable… The communion wine tasted suspiciously like cough syrup, though. Just thought I’d share.) I’m worried that my mom might have to fly down by herself, and I’d like to go with her, but I think it would only stress her out more, worrying about getting me back to school and whatnot.
Thank you again, everyone… And, poohpah, that line about the view of the lake brought a much need smile to my face.
I can’t say anything to you that will make your loss any less awful.
But it sounds as though you loved your aunt and she knew it. That is the best thing that will help you, that you let her know how special she was to you, and that you loved her.
I lost my beloved mother three years ago, also to cancer, and I will always be grateful that she knew how much I loved her.
((((((Serendipity)))))
A book I really found helpful is “Living With An Empty Chair.” I read lots and lots of books after I lost my mom, and that is the one that spoke to me.
Even when she was in pain, she was worried about the welfare of others.