Her ninety-sixth birthday would have been this Friday. She went into the hospital with pneumonia a couple weeks ago and from there went into hospice care. She use to babysit me when I was a child. She was there when I had chickenpox. She was the reason I knew about and was allowed to watch SNL because she loved watching the church lady when she would babysit me. She would make me macaroni and cheese and I would take the largest bites imaginable and sit back on the couch to chew.
It’s weird to have such strong, fond memories of someone who, as I grew older, became less a part of my life. I grew up, started a life of my own, moved away, and completely lost contact. That doesn’t stop anything though.
My Aunt Irene was always with my Aunt Marge as long as I can remember. They grew up together, had adventures together, and ended up in the same home together. Irene passed years ago. The last thing my Aunt Marge did while lying in her hospital bed was open her eyes and say, “Irene is fine.” Then she was gone. And that makes you think.
