As I sit down to write this on the 28th of December, I realize that a week and five minutes ago, my aunt passed away. A week and five minutes ago, I was at her hospital bedside as she listened to John Denver’s “Country Roads” and breathed her last. It was as peaceful as it could have been, given the suddenness.
I’m in a whirlwind of grief and loss and resurrected memories of all varieties. Seems like the entirety of 2024 was nothing but a whirlwind of such things.
And still, I obey the call to write. This is Blog #273. Part of me feels like I’m betraying the tasks at hand by taking the time to do this just to keep the streak alive.
Part of me knows that’s silly. Aunt Jane would say keep going. Pen to page. Butt in chair. Get it done. “When’s the next one coming out?” and even, “How are your writer friends getting along?”
She showed up at my house out of the blue shortly after Life Along The Way was published back in 2021. I’d given her the book, not knowing if it was her kind of thing. She lugged in a white cardboard banker's box. She kept a straight face. I figured it was paperwork or a laptop and components she needed help with, or… who knew?
She’d read Life Along the Way. All of it. Turns out, as she went through the book, she’d made a list of the tangible mentions: my favorite chocolate, or saving up dimes, or Post-It notes, or Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Saran Wrap. All the crazy things I took from ordinary days and created blog posts from. She’d gone on a hunt, purchased these items, and curated the box based on my silly posts.
Janie had no idea what she’d really put in the box was wind for the writing sails.
My books were on display in her living room, across from the classics of Charles Dickens and Alice Walker. A humbling sight upon walking into her home right after her passing…
In a stack of papers, I discovered a printed list of my titles. She was tracking whether she owned them or had read them yet. More humbling wind in the sails.
Also among her things, I found a ten-page stapled printout entitled “Conversations Between Two Spoiled Pets.”
Janie was a writer. Poem at the end and everything.
Then the book I’d been trying to locate since a week ago surfaced: I’m Dead, Now What? —a guide for after she passed. It used to be right by her chair, but I didn’t discover it until yesterday, slid behind a row of books on a living room shelf.
My gut wrenched, and I may have lost my legs, as I sat right in the middle of the floor with the book, numb. “Okay, Janie, it’s a little late to show me this now. I’ve made your arrangements already.” (Yes, I said these things out loud because she needs to know I’ve been looking for this book.) “What did you really want? What did I miss?”
I thumb through to the section on her wishes. It was blank. That was a huge relief, as other sections were pretty thorough. I did my best to honor what I thought she would want. Simple. Private. Respectful. Her one adamant request of late was that her little dog, who passed away last year, be buried with her. That was handled.
The very last tab in the book is “Last Words.” I flipped to it.
Just one line.
“BYE! See You Later!”
I laughed and then cried, then laughed again. She got the last word in. She liked that… a bit of orneryness.
A week and thirty-five minutes ago, my aunt passed away, but her encouragement still fills the sails from beyond the veil… and so we honor.
And we write.
Bye, Aunt Jane. See you later…
