It's been more than a year since AunT's death; all the various 'First' anniversaries have passed and it's difficult to categorize all of the little ways in which life has changed. Other than the gaping vacuum left by the loss of one of the more fantastical personalities I've ever known, our days have again become filled with more laughter than tears and we've begun actively living life.
The children, recognizing the ebb of mourning in we adults, have begun to talk openly of their memories of my sister, their doting AunT.
We've many conversations around the dinner table in which the phrase "oh my god remember with AunT would..." arises and a re-telling of one of the many "T" stories begins with animated laughter. Often portrayals of AunT fall to me as I not only look and sound like her, but I'm able to represent her mannerisms in an eerily accurate fashion.
Even when she wasn't in our immediate presence, she was only a phone call or brief drive away. She was as constant and as much a part of our lives even after she moved to Boston as the air that fills our lungs. Wherever she went chaos and adventure followed and if we weren't there to personally observe her adventures, she'd relish in the joy of retelling them.
After she left for Boston her nightly calls became a window through which she shared her new world. Those conversations taught us of the different cultures in Boston, that it was 'fricking cold all the time!', her roommates 'the boys' were a great deal of fun, and the challenges of homesickness that she battled were at times overwhelming.
When Charles and I went to Boston to close her affairs, in many ways it felt as though I'd already been there and had met the people in her life. As we packed her belongings, and made arrangements for her final trip home, her roommates relayed all the stories that she'd passed along to them and shared even more details of her time there.
Now that the raw shock of her passing has waned, we have begun the long term acceptance and incorporation of her ghost.
When AunT moved to Boston, she sorted through her belongings and passed along items that were favorites of BW's or JB's, things that she knew we could use, or that she was unable to let go of but couldn't fit into her car or justify carting to the far corner of the country. Also passed along were items that had been swapped back and forth between us so frequency that the ownership could no longer be established.
Within our home are numerous reminders of my sister; be it the cup I drink coffee out of every morning, the wallet that JB uses to tote around her 'important stuff', the radio upon which BW listens to music and has 'disco dance parties' in his room with JB and their friends during play dates and sleepovers, or the fountain that she purchased when she first moved to Colorado and lived with us and which was prominently located in each of her homes since then.
Where I once experienced overwhelming numbness or sorrow at the sight of such mementos of her life, I now smile at the memory and knowledge that even though she has gone, she still lives on through us. I also know that we are not alone in this regard. Many of my sister's friends and families have similar memories and objects that she passed along. She was generous with her friends, and after she died, we heard from many of them of the significant role she played in their lives, and their thankfulness in having been allowed to know her during her short time on this earth.
As a youth, one of my deepest and most intimate fears was that that I would not be remembered. As I approached the end of my high school years and began to prepare for college, my dread of growing older increased and many nights were spent fearing that like others in previous generations, I would age, attend school, possibly marry and have children, grow old and die without leaving any sort of 'mark' or lasting monument to my existence in the world. I would exist simply as a soul that lived, died and was forgotten.
Consequently, my early adult years were spent working to avoid the curse of the forgotten, trying to do my best, be my best and learn all that I could so that when I entered the work-a-day world I would be ready to tackle the it with my breadth of knowledge and 'be somebody'. During this time though, I forgot of the importance of living life and making the very memories that would allow my 'mark' to carry on.
With AunT's passing though, and the wealth of momentos that once graced her home, I realize that like her, friends family and acquaintances have not only their memories of me, but also stories to tell, possibly even an item or two that reminds them of me.
Where once I spent nights lying awake, wishing desperately to know the future and that I would 'make my mark' I no longer have that fear. As I've grown older, I've come to realize that like my sister, I am not the sort of person who will easily be forgotten, especially by friends and family, and through my children my stories will live on, just as my sister's memory lives on through me and all those who love her.
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