I don’t really know how to handle death. It’s been 18 years since I lost someone I deeply cared about and loved. Some would say that is fortunate, but I don’t agree. My aunt passed away on July 6th, at the age of 70. She was one of the most caring and loving people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.
As a kid, I used to stay over her house quite often, as I did with most family. I was content sitting in the kitchen talking as she cooked. Might I add, her cooking was amazing, must have been the Italian genetics passed on. Granted it’s not an Italian dish, she would make boiled dinner at least once a year and if I couldn’t make it over for it, she would freeze a pint just for me. One time her son brought her some lobsters, she LOVED lobsters, and again I was accompanying her in the kitchen. The lobster, which was still alive, was attempting to get out of the pot. When my aunt noticed, she cracked him on the head with the wooden spoon she had in her hand and the poor thing slowly fell back into the abyss. I remember being so perplexed, being that was the most violent thing I have ever seen her do. I remember another time where she cooked an entire box of Ello’s pizza for me and helped me season all nine squares differently with various spices.
She was a strong woman, having dealt with difficulties and hardships in life like everyone else, but she was always so happy to see friends and family. Her home was often a place for family gatherings and parties. It’s where I had my first Captain and Coke, mistaking my cup for my cousins. The relatives in the kitchen enjoyed that moment, mostly because of the face I made surprised by the taste. She was able to see her kids, nieces and nephews grow up, and her granddaughters are teenagers now, which she helped raise. I’m sure they were given a bath in the kitchen sink just how I was. Though the past year was exceptionally tough health wise, she did have the joy of a newborn granddaughter to shine some light on darker days.
I love you auntie.