|Posted by Sara Moore on 23 March, 2016 at 17:50|
So today my Auntie Anne died. She was my godmother and my mothers sister. I found out this morning when my Auntie Janie called to tell me. Although I wasn't suprised she had passed, now that I am sitting here quietly next to my son, the reality is sinking in. My moms family with of six siblings has now been decreased to two. That is just very surreal to me, and I'm trying to wrap my head around it.
My mom was the baby of the family and moved out of Stoneham when I was young. This was good, because I knew nothing of the craziness that goes on in a good Irish Catholic family living just outside of Boston, but bad, because I knew nothing of the craziness that went on, either. After my mom died I became a closer with my cousins and even went to a family reunion about six years ago. It was neat to put faces to the names of the people I'd heard about and I was reminded that we have a really big family!
Auntie Anne had spikey bleach blonde hair for as long as I can remember. She always was tanned, and loved her winters in Florida. Her grandchildren meant the world to her and every time we talked she referred to me as "Sara Anne." I'm going to miss that. Her body had failed her, if you want to look at it in those terms, and she was apparently ready to go. I can't blame her. She deserves to be free of her body, her worries, her pain. That doesn't make it any easier for my Uncle Danny or my cousins who will be burying their mother next week. I have already done that, and I know how hard that will be.
Here's how I want to picture her in heaven. She shows up. Everyone cheers as she arrives, and the wine flows freely. (You KNOW she'd love that, so have at it Auntie Anne!) There's mom, my uncle Johnny, my uncle Brud, her parents, her friends, her loved ones that have predeceased her. Even the old beagle Luke that I remember from when I was a child. The best part is her body is strong. She can be hugged and not feel pain. She can golf, dance, watch us and even have it out with God if she wants to.
Auntie Anne, may you be at peace. My heart is breaking as I type this but I have no doubt you'll let me know you're ok once you're settled in. I love you and am so glad I got to sit with you not too long ago.