Grief

I cried. I did. I cried and told him that he had hurt my feelings. He felt awful, apologized, and said he didn't mean it. We are fine.

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When it rains, it pours. In 2005, I wrote this about my aunt who was really sick. That was almost four years ago. Since then she has valiantly been battling lung cancer and today, this morning, she died.

There are no words to tell you how much this woman means to me. I grieve, even as I smile and say I'm glad she's no longer in pain. I grieve, even as I tell my cousin, her daughter, that she can get through the next week, next month, next year, without her mom. I grieve.

She took her three kids, my sister, and me up to the mountains where we picked wild blueberries. We climbed back down and she made us blueberry pancakes for dinner. We biked down to the ice cream place, but she made us buy frozen yogurt because it was healthier. She let me drive that old clunker around the field even though I wasn't old enough and had never driven before. She sent me box after box after box of trashy romance novels when I was in college. She loved her husband, her kids, her family, and her pet birds. She was one of the punniest, cleverest people I've ever met.

Just yesterday I put a card in the mail for her. I'm sorry she won't get a chance to see it, but I'm glad that I have sent her card after card for the last four years.

I will miss her.