It seems fitting that my 96 year old aunt waited until the day I finished my final novel edit to pass away. She was that kind of person, always thinking of others. Some time after we got the news, I found myself reminiscing about her. While I hadn’t seen her in a long time, my memories of her were very clear and full of gratitude.
My aunt was that rare woman who could make you feel like you were the most important person in the room. The picture above is from my fourth birthday. That joy in her face was just who she was. When she spent time with me and my cousin that day, she wasn’t one of those adults who was “too adult” to play with us. If we were using the dining room table as our fort, she would climb right under it to be there with us. To say that her inner child guided her life was an understatement. She understood that innocent joy that children seem to know. She also knew what was important in life. She laughed with abandon. She cried easily. And she was honest in a way a child is. She could look at your shirt and tell you that your boobs were not the same size. I kid you not.
I am super grateful that I was loved by her and that she taught me what love looked like. She was never someone who asked, “What’s in it for me?” She gave with her whole heart. She never did anything halfway. Over the last few days, I’ve come to realize that even in death, she was still trying to teach me things.
I say that I’ve been on this journey with my inner child for the last year, but I think I’ve been trying to get back to that place of joy and innocence for a long long time. And I can’t say that I’ve been successful. The adult part of me often wants to meet a deadline, work, work, work, get it done. But she always understood the present and the beauty of it. When she talked with you, she was 100% there with you. She wasn’t thinking about what she had to do later or the myriad of errands that were still waiting for her. No, she was there, listening to you talk about whatever. She really lived the now. And because she lived the now, now has become forever.