The Sunday Scan (on Wed)

My mother, brother Tedd, Aunt Harriet and cousin Slate.
1957ish.

This week, one of my favourite Aunt's died. She was a lovely and gracious woman who spoke in an even measured tone and would chuckle warmly at the antics of small children. She dressed impeccably in beautifully tailored clothing, cutting an imposing and elegant figure. One year for Christmas, she gave me the entire collection of Louisa May Alcott novels, leather bound. I was around 11 or 12. I remember stammering th th th thank you. I looked at the covers for the longest time before ever cracking one open. I still have the Christmas note in one of the books.

What I keep with me is a whole host of wonderful childhood memories. There are the weekends at my Aunt and Uncle's lake house where I remember the swing in the tree so close to the water that one could swing out over it. And the empty crooked house up the road that we would visit. And the water skiing. Christmas at her house included the huge game room in the basement and the huge St. Bernard out on the back porch who would lick my face horribly. She would chuckle, "Brandy won't hurt you!" Then there was the spooky organ in the dining room that could make really spooky sounds.

Sad times exist too. There was the morning I heard on the radio that my cousin had been killed. I couldn't believe it and just as I called to my mother, the phone rang. It was true. I staggered to school that day. I made it as far as the hallway outside the girls room before bursting into tears. Someone came to school and brought me to my aunts. I remember signing thank you notes. Then when 2 decades later my own son Soren died, she was the first to call and say, "Age does not matter to a parent." She understood.

The bubster's birth made her so happy.

I will miss her. It feels like the end of an era has begun.