My brave old auntie dies!

My Auntie was the youngest of six children in her family.  As one would say in South Africa " A late lamb".  As so often happens with the baby in the family, she took on the responsibility of caring for her ailing mother at the tender age of eleven, and thereafter continued to care for a great many people.  As each person she cared for came to the end of their lives, so she would turn her attention to the next one. There was an endless stream of people from parents to parents-in-law, siblings and friends, and finally her own husband.  

When my Auntie became old and frail, she looked around to see who might take care of her, but unfortunately, that kind of dedication is a rare commodity.  I am sure there were times when she felt very neglected.  We all did what we could, but life in today's world is very hectic.  

I received a call from my cousin P, to say that she had come to the end of the line, and had been admitted into the high care section at the local hospital.  I immediately went to see her, only to be confronted by the specter of death.  I could see she was literally days away from dying.

I went each day to see her, but was never quite sure how much she was able to understand of what I was saying.  I found myself feeling quite emotional as I talked to her and told her what a wonderful aunt she had been, not only to myself, but also to my sisters and cousins.  I found myself weeping out all the pain and hurt and sorrow of past deaths, while I told her how much I loved and appreciated her.  At one point, she slowly lifted her right hand a cm or two, which allowed me to slip my hand under hers.  Ever so slowly, she curled her fingers around mine, and at snails pace, drew my hand up towards her heart.  I knew then with certainty that she had heard me, and this was her way of saying, I love you too.

Her funeral was quite different from the other two funerals I had attended the previous three months.  Being almost ninety four when she died, most of her friends had long departed this world, and so in attendance were close family members including her daughter, my cousin J, who had travelled from America to pay her last respects to her feisty mother, a few members from the Retirement Home, as well as the odd person from the Rotary Anne club, where she had been a member for fifty years.  The flowers on top of the coffin were bright and cheerful, and reflected my auntie's positive outlook to life.  I sometimes heard her say,  "I'm feeling a bit down today, but I will talk myself out of it," which she usually did.

Almost the entire family from my mothers side have been buried in the same cemetery.  My grandparents, my parents, two aunties, four uncles and my big sister, and so it was to this place that my auntie made her last journey, to be lowered alongside her late husband.  Once the committal had been completed and the last of the Rose petals had been sprinkled into the open grave, we left her to figuratively speaking, join the rest of the gang for one large "heavenly party".  My phone had gone off just as I was about to throw a handful of petals, which prompted my cousin P, to tell me a story about the time his phone let loose in the middle of a funeral service. Unbeknown to him, his teenage son had downloaded an interesting ring tone onto his cell.  At a most inopportune moment the mourners were greeted by a very loud and lively " I like to move it, move it.  I like to move it, move it".  Such is life!