I am driving to visit friends.
The phone rings and it is my sister
letting me know that my oldest aunt
has passed, at home with her daughter nearby.
I knew this was coming,
but each time another elderly
relative dies I am reminded
that we are becoming the elderly
and that my days with my father
are numbered, though I am
so lucky to have him at 92.
Eleanor, his oldest sister,
such a loving aunt, so many
birthday cakes, homemade pies
and hand knitted gifs.
Every trip to New York
meant spending time with her
and my cousins, her children.
So many memories of her home,
of her stories of my father and
their childhood in Troy
or Snyder’s Corners
or at their camp on Burden Lake.
I am fortunate to have such rich
childhood memories of being loved
by those who came before me.