Remembering My Aunt B


I don’t use real names on my blog, so I will refer to her by just her first initial. My Aunt B.

This picture was taken approximately ten years ago. My aunt is on the left. I am the one on the right, talking with my hands, like a weirdo. πŸ™‚

In the picture, Aunt B is wearing the cross that her father, my grandfather, carved out of Mother of Pearl when he was in the U.S. Army during World War II, fighting in the South Pacific. He carved three identical crosses. He sent one to his wife who was working in a factory, building bomber airplanes for the war effort, a real-life Rosie the Riveter. The other two crosses were for their two young children: my mother and my aunt. I now have one of the crosses. It was given to me by Aunt B, about twenty years ago.

My aunt was a high school English teacher. She was a mother and a grandmother. She was married for a little over 45 years — until his death — to a United Methodist minister. Her late husband was also the President Emeritus of a small college.

My aunt was a young girl when I was born. In my earliest memories of her, she was a beautiful, vivacious teenager, wearing the cashmere sweaters, can-can slips, and poodle skirts that were popular at the time.

She died yesterday. I believe she is now in a far better place, reunited with our awesome Lord Jesus, with her wonderful husband, and with all the precious loved ones who have gone on before.

I miss my beautiful, brilliant Aunt B.

PS: Now, finally, I am crying. I was in too much shock to cry until now.