My aunt Grace passed away this Saturday at 100 years old.
She was one of the most wonderful people you could ever meet; she had the heart of the sweetest grandmother you could ever imagine, but also the spirit of an adventurous lover of the world.
She so... loved life; reading and traveling and learning and writing and seeing and eating and laughing... god her laugh was so joyous! She just was brimming with love, even as her body began to give out on her. I love her so much - she taught me so much about love, about being hungry for life and caring for the people around you... (please pardon my over-usage of the word love, it's just so what I think of when I think of her.)
My family life was/is a bit... confusing and erratic (bordering on tempestuous at times), but she has been the constant for us, me and my mom. When I was a kid, my mom and I lived here on and off when things were particularly bad at home - my mom drew these Sesame Street posters of Big Bird and Bert and Ernie, and my aunt hung them up in the kitchen for me. We would have these "picnics" in the sunroom with peanut butter sandwiches. Dinner always needed a dessert - everything needed a sweet ending. When my parents split up and we moved to California, we still came out here every summer, and since 2007, I came out alone to spend Christmas with her every year. We would cook and stay up late watching old movies together or talking at her kitchen table while eating panettone and drinking tea... I would take these all day trips to Manhattan, freezing my ass off, and come home and tell her about everything I saw, what exhibits were at the Met - she loved it.
Even when I wasn't here, I'd just call her and say "Hey Grace, it's Katie!" and she'd answer, "KATIE!" like she'd been waiting all day for me to call, she just sounded so excited to hear from me. I can almost hear her voice now, in my head, and it's so hard knowing I'll never hear her voice again. I don't want to forget it, any of it. She just loved and loved and loved and you never would ever doubt it...
I am very thankful I can be out here, to both support my mama and so that we can remember and celebrate Grace together.
It's hard to be here and to have to go through her things and to hear my other family members talk about selling the house, about how we need to take the pictures out of their frames, and what should we do with the furniture, etc. It has to be done, and it's not the same without her, but it's another part of her being gone. I don't want to move anything or do anything because I might start forgetting. But we have to.
The house was built in 1914, a year after my aunt was born, and she lived in it for, virtually, her whole life. It was such a big part of who she was. It's this four-story, antique home that has stayed the same since my mom was a kid - it's a bit worn, but it's beautiful and it was a second home for me. My grandfather was born in the room I'm sitting in right now. This house has such history and such memory in it. It's so hard to be here, in her home, without her - it feels so empty, you know? It's missing her... I'm missing her.
We've started to go through her records and boxes.... She was someone who took down so many notes, always had a calendar, and kept everything she was ever given. Even in going through all of her things - every Christmas card, note from her brother or my mother, coupon, receipt, or datebook just... screams of her. She kept everything, I think, because she loved it all so much, loved life so much, and it's in every single one of these artifacts. Everywhere I go in this house, I see her, but she is so... not here.
