a sad slice

You make plans and then ...

We had planned a birthday party for one of the young persons in the family. We had postponed the party once already, and postponed it again.

My aunt, whose health had had ups and downs during the last year, whom I visited in July, when she was feeling better, getting better and we agreed to another visit in August, she got worse, was taken to a hospital, a place she said she never wanted to return, and I believe she gave up and died. 

Instead of a birthday party we had a funeral to attend. Being eighty-eight and sick, the death is a relief, a better alternative than being bed-ridden and helpless. My aunt was "an adequate elderly", a phrase she read in one of the hospital documents, all the way to the end. 

She was a single woman, never married, never had kids, the youngest of her family, two older sisters gone already, big brothers grieving her loss. My nephew and his daughter living closer to her took as much care of her as possible in the end. She was a proud and independent woman, managing everything, and hated being helpless and dependent. 

She and I had phone calls and occasional visits. I always left her place with a book recommendations and a bag of dried apple slices. She was the only person who still mailed birthday cards. 

My grief is locked tight inside me. I haven't been able to cry. 

The day before her funeral, I went to a poetry festival, a small event in a small seaside village. I was sure that at some point the tears would come. Instead I was so immersed in the readings that I didn't think of the death and the funeral. At some point I caught myself laughing. Strangely it felt right. 

The death of my aunt was a reminder to live the life to the fullest, do what matters and be with people that matter, make the choices that bring joy and appreciate each day as a gift.