February 8, 2003

Tomorrow is the one day I truly wish would fall off the calendar and never appear again.  February 8, 2003 was the day I think my childhood ended.  The day that I realized I wouldn't always get my way--even in the really big things.  The day my Aunt died.

We had a very unique relationship.  Aunt Nancy never married and never had children of her own.  Instead, she had me as well as several hundred former students.  I was always so excited to spend any and every moment with her.  She always treated me like an equal and not a little kid.  I was never upset if Mother and Daddy were going somewhere without me as long as I got to stay with Aunt Nancy.  I happily stayed with her during chemo weekends just to have more time with her.  I didn't care what we did as long as we were together.  Sunday afternoon naps were perfectly acceptable activities in my book.

The two days leading up to that Saturday should have been a clue.  Thursday, we had an indication that something wasn't right.  Friday, I asked Mother to stay with me overnight.  I don't really think she had any intentions of leaving us alone, but I still thank God that I asked her to stay.  If she hadn't, that night and the next morning would have been so much worse.

Even with everything that happened on Friday night and early Saturday morning, I never thought that when I left the hospital to shower that I would never see Aunt Nancy alive again.  I had (and still do, to an extent) a lot of anger towards Mother afterwards when I realized that I was kept away while others were there.  Daddy and I were not given a chance to say goodbye.  I am so glad that I could not hear the other side of the conversation when Mother had to tell Daddy on the way home from England.  I remember once we went back to her house, I was trying to find someone to pick up Daddy from the Huntsville airport because I didn't think he could make it home safely alone.  I remember Mother's sister coming in through the garage and, for just a second, I thought her approaching shadow was Aunt Nancy and that everything that had happened in the last 24 hours was just a terrible nightmare.

If I knew then what I know now, I would have been much more realistic and not so naive.  I would have realized that long-term survival was a long-shot at best.  I was completely unprepared to lose her.  I thought we had no secrets, but the very most important one of all left me unprepared and unable to tell her the things I hope she knew about how I felt.

For weeks afterward, I felt like there was a huge hole in my life.  My first thought every morning was "Did that really happen?"  It hurt to even talk about her and I could't enjoy the good memories because the bad ones were so overwhelming.  Eventually, with the help of a counselor, I was able to let go of much of the pain and remember the good times.  She had me keep a journal that I was to write one memory of the two of us in per night.  I still have the journal, but I haven't looked at it in a while.  I have found that the good memories never really go away even with the passage of time.

Even though the hole is still there, I've gotten used to it.  I can go most days without being sad.  I still miss her and I still wish I would have been able to say goodbye.