My Father's Sister

I've typed and deleted dozens of opening sentences for this post, but the only one that seems fitting is the straightforward one:

My father's only sister passed away today.

Unlike my Mamaw's passing a few weeks ago, which was both imminent and a bittersweet blessing, this--this--was unexpected.

Though my Aunt Judy faced some significant health challenges in the past year since her own husband's death, I by no means guessed her time was near. So the phone call today was certainly a shock.

In all honesty, I didn't feel much like posting about it this evening, but worse still was the thought of continuing with other events and posts about our lives without acknowledging this member of our family--the last of my father's side that was a part of my childhood--and all that she was. 

She was Jim's Sister

There are so many things that come to mind when I think of my Aunt Judy, but the most precious is probably the devotion I witnessed between her and my dad--both in the years before his passing when I was young, and the years after he was long gone.

I think it was through their interactions that I first really gave credit to the unique bond that exists among siblings. Such a beautiful and complex relationship, unlike any other we share as humans.

Where my father was all boisterous laugh and open-hearted teasing (at least in my child's mind), his sister was quieter but with a sharp wit and well-timed sarcasm. He had a way of charming a room. She had a way of capping off a story or a memory with just the perfect look that conveyed more than her words. He was boisterous. She was mildly mischievous. But they were a perfect sibling match.

The love was evident in the devotion through the hardest of things. And through the worst, both sides kept it light. He waged a bet to get her to quit smoking when I was a kid, and ribbed her and taunted her just enough to see her through it. She was a stalwart defender of his memory after his death (even if she didn't know it), giving us the gift of her happy and hilarious adectodes of the father we didn't get to keep long enough.

Even as a child, I saw the pain of losing him often in her eyes, but she was a soldier about it, and just as often, glittered with a personal memory that brought me joy through her perspective. 

They were trouble, both of them, in the best and divergent of ways. And I imagine their reunion as one hell of a lively thing.

She Was One Half Of A Whole

Perhaps it's unfair of me to describe her as one half, indicating she was less than complete in and of herself, but...the truth is that it's damn-near impossible for me to imagine Judy without her Ted.

They were a unit, and together in most of my childhood memories. He was a solid rock of a man, with few words but much love for his wife. And though she soldiered on, yet again, when she lost him not long ago, I imagine it must have felt like a phantom limb.

Another reunion that I can only imagine.

There are so many other memories I have about my father's sister, and not enough prose to frame them with justice. But I'll jot them here for the joy they've given me:

- The slight brashness of her voice, one generation removed from her very German parents.

- The delicious Monical's pizza she always planned for us as children when we came for a visit, much to our delight. 

- The free reign my brothers and I were given to play at the bar in her furnished basement--mixing 7-up and root beer grossness to our hearts' content. Wasting far too many of those plastic stirrers.

- The fresh venison she and Ted often had on hand.

- The commemorative plates that hung on the wall beside their curved staircase.

- The dogs (at least a few in a row) who were each named some version of Mitsy Boo.

- The time, after my grandmother passed, when we sat at her kitchen table with the vinyl seats, and sifted through her old jewelry, telling stories.

- Her love of books, even smutty ones we'd talk and joke about once I was an adult.

- Her wink. Oh, her wink. I'll forever be envious of that wink--something I could never pull off. But she did. Like a boss. 

Through God's great mercy, my brothers, mother and I had the blessing of seeing Judy just a couple weeks ago, right after Mamaw's funeral. She looked healthy. She seemed upbeat. And happy to have us all there.

Dear Lord, will I forever be grateful for that visit--short as I had to be after a grueling 24 hours. We never know how much time we have on this earth, and can only appreciate what we have. Each day, to the fullest, if we are able.

And, God, am I thankful for my father's sister, and what appeared to be a peaceful passing. I so hope to see her again one day, by the grace of our Heavenly Father and his promise of eternal life.

Amen.

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2014