We got back home on the March 17th. My mom and grandmother had stayed behind, and she called on Monday to tell us that my aunt had done really well on Sunday night, and seemed to have more energy throughout the day. She said my aunt was being "smart" with my uncle, and it was good to see her little attitude come back out. This was a good sign. If she got her strength back, and if she was cleared to fly our family was considering taking her to Mexico for a medical trial that would accept her. They took on aggressive cancers and had doctors that were willing to try alternative treatments. I had hoped that we'd be able to give this place a shot once she started feeling better. It was a last resort, but one that everyone was willing to pitch in for. Now all we had to do was pray, and hope that she would gain some strength back in order to make that journey.
Sadly, on Monday night things took a turn and deteriorated rather quickly. On Tuesday night, surrounded by family and with her mother at her side --holding her hand--, my aunt passed away.
She was 53. We had just gotten home from the gym when my mother called to tell me the news. I stood in the kitchen with tears in my eyes, and a lump in my throat. "Okay. Give my uncle and cousins some hugs from us. Tell them we love them." And as I hung up the phone I grasped the kitchen counter and began to sob. This was hard, y'all. This was unfair. My aunt had so much more life in her, and I couldn't believe she was gone. Just like that. I mean, I knew it was a possibility. I knew that when I kissed her goodbye that one Saturday morning, that that day could be the last time I would see her alive. But I didn't think it would be within days. Hours. I thought we had more time. Even if just a month. That evening as I stood in my kitchen crying I was simultaneously trying to remember every detail of our time together. Every word she said, every smile, every hug, and then I started looking through all of the previous text messages. Saving every picture, and every scripture she sent. Rereading all of the advice that she had given me. I never want to forget any of it. I never want to forget her.
My aunt was an amazing woman. She always smiled, and she loved fiercely. She valued family over everything. She was one of the few people I felt like I could really talk to about anything, and everything under the sun. She was kind, and giving. There was one weekend a few years ago when she came down for a visit, and I was having a pretty hard time financially. There were doctor visits that had to be paid for, medications that needed to be paid for, and then to top it off not only was I late on the gas bill but my car was on the fritz too. I had showed up to my parents house needing to borrow some quarters because my dryer had just broken, and I needed to go to the laundromat before the mildew smell set in. I remember I had a little over $50 in my account that morning, and it needed to last me until I got paid the following week. I remember trying to do the best that I could that weekend, and I spent it over at my parent's house in order to make sure Emery had three meals. Then, before my aunt left back to Georgia that Sunday she pulled me in for a hug, kissed my cheek, and handed me some money. "Mija, find a decent used washer. There's enough money in there for that, and to pay your bill." I argued that I would be fine, and for her to use the money for something else. She just grabbed me by my shoulders, pulled me in for a hug, smiled at me, and then told me to take the money or she'd make my mom deposit it into my account. There was no arguing with this woman when she had her mind set on something. That was just the kind of person she was. Protective of those she loved. She knew Jesus, and God in a way that not many do. And even in her last days she prayed, and worshiped.
Once we had gotten back home after this last visit I had started to do some research on gallbladder cancer. And to be honest, it was all a bit discouraging. It was maddening too. How the hell do we not have more answers? More funding? More trials? Why are we not looking into alternative treatments? As I sat in my living room combing through link after link I learned that survival rates during the first round of treatment were low, and recurrence was extremely high. So, even if you beat it the first time, any additional years you lived were just gifts. Borrowed time. Maybe if I had known that before I would have visited more. I would have held her longer. I would have called as often as possible. Taken a leave of absence from work to spend a week helping her during treatment. But I didn't. I didn't know anything. After I closed my laptop I felt so stupid for not looking into this sooner. For thinking that my aunt was invincible. For taking the time we had for granted. Since I had just used some of my personal time at work the week before I wasn't in the position to ask for more time off. Then there was the issue of my daughter having to go back to school. So, after speaking with my parents I had to make the difficult decision of not attending the funeral. And this killed me. I face timed with my uncle, and cousins to let them know how much I wish I could be there. I told them I loved them and would help in any way that I could from afar. They let me know that they understood I couldn't just take off on such short notice, and only a day after getting back. My uncle told me that he was just grateful I got to see her one last time.
A few days before the funeral I started looking for weekend flights. I thought that if I could find some last minute discounted red-eye flight there and back on the same day it would be worth it. Unfortunately, the flights available were too long due to layovers, and all out of my price range. When I told my mom that my last little bit of hope to make it there had been squashed she said that it was okay. That they would be there for us. And later that afternoon one of my aunts called to let me know that there would be a special link for us on their church website to watch the funeral from home. It was for family members that couldn't make it, but still wanted to take part in the services. So, even though I wasn't able to be there physically, I would still be able to see it. And that's exactly what we did. As we sat in a parking lot (a story for later) we watched the entire service. We prayed, and we sang along. My family did a wonderful job. It was a service worthy of my aunt. With her favorite verses, and songs. She would have loved it. It was beautiful, and I'm glad I was able to see it. Now that it's been several weeks I still haven't really grasped it. My mind hasn't entirely come to terms with the fact that she's not here anymore. One day it will. And I hope I don't take it too hard. Until then, I just smile when we all talk about her. I smile thinking that she's up there in Heaven dancing around to the beat of her own drum dressed in head to toe purple with a Dallas Cowboy's jersey underneath. You know, because you always have to be ready for football season. And when I think of her I hope we're making her proud. But most of all I hope that we're living life in the way that will allow us to see her again one day...in the next life.
Until then, I love you Aunt Linda. You are my favorite. And you're missed something fierce down here.
