We Lost A Star

Its a surprising call to get. At our age, it comes more and more frequently. Someone is suffering, someone is hurting. The elderly ones, although no less painful, are expected. The younger ones come as a shock. Nonetheless, we have to face it, our mortality. The frailty of human existence.

When the wind blew about my Aunt Shirley, I should have been caught off guard. She was a stalwart woman with a great disposition about life. Since the passing of my grandmother, her mother, she was not in the presence of mind she possessed in her youth. My days are filled with my family and my business, so my contact with her was not as regular as in the past. I would call to catch up on extended family gossip. To pass a few light hearted stories of my own. Aunt Shirley was always ready with a word of support, a quick joke of her own and always some wayward advice about my continuing relationship struggles with her brother, my father. These calls were as infrequent as you might think. They were the same communications as before the passing of my Grandmother but with a much different tone. The joy of life, the sparkle of existence had been replaced by the vacuum of death. The aching pain of missing a loved one who completed the knowledge of your very existence. I could hear in every whisp of her conversation that she missed my grandmother. In her eyes, she did not understand how to move forward, past this event. Exist she did, with the help of God and her family. She existed but not on a plane of joy, simply a plane of being. A shroud of sadness, with a speck of light.

As we grew up, she never met a stranger. The people around her were genuine about their enjoyment of her. To watch her interact with my father was timeless, lost in their youth. She had a laughter and a joy that many saw and admired. She was the soft edge to Don's rough one. She loved her children and grandchildren and showed it in every way. One of the things that I admired the most was the fact that she stayed put. No matter where I went or what I did, she was there. The spotty calls back would always result in a good conversation and a solid foundation from the past.

We weren't as close as we could have been. That was probably my fault. Busy lives, busy lives. The last time I saw her was during the funeral for my grandmother. I cant remember a sadder time. At the time, I felt so helpless for her sadness. What hit me directly was that we all move forward, generation by generation. I thought then, grandma was the last of hers, now it moves on to the next. Not a satisfying revelation. Like coins on the ledge of a carnival game, one layer falls, opening up the ultimate demise of the next and so on. Selfish as it sounds and as much as I will miss her, we are the next layer set to fall off. What does that mean for us.

Its a sad time, losing an Aunt, a mother, a grandmother, a wife and a friend. We can never fully recover from the formation of this hole. We can pay tribute to a life well lived. A life that had purpose and meaning. A life that touched so many. It forces us to take stock in our own life. Have we made a difference? 100 years from now, will anyone know we were here? What is our purpose?

Aunt Shirley made a difference. She will be missed.