Dear Aunt Lynn,

We knew this day was coming, but the knowledge that you were going to pass did not make the last few days any more manageable. I’m already beating myself up because the last time we had breakfast together was in September. I miss you every day. My worst fear is that I will someday forget about the sound of your voice or the way it made me feel. 

When I was a kid, I remember I thought you were the coolest adult ever because you have hammock full of stuffed animals in your bedroom. You never really made me feel like a kid, just like a person. I remember, as a kid, you loved to read books to me. I can still remember you reading “The Monster at the End of This Book.” At the very end of the book, you would draw your finger in your chest and say, “I love furry, old Grover and Monster.” 

I think the thing that I admire most was always your ability to be yourself. I remember when I was a kid, you always wore baseball hats jerseys. When I got to the very awkward age of Middle School, the other girls would ask me if you were a lesbian. With all the ignorance of a twelve-year-old that made my stomach churn. As an adult, I understand that you were just so uniquely yourself that it didn’t matter to you what other people thought of you. A life lesson that you taught me without even trying was that I should always be whatever the hell I wanted to be and stay true to myself.

You were always such a mom. I remember growing up you didn’t want me to watch scary movies because they give me bad dreams. In college, I had that skin-tight pink and black dress you didn’t like me to wear because it was too revealing. When you’re a kid, and you want to fight for your Independence, and at every turn, you don’t understand as an adult. You know that some people are just meant to be nurturers show love in that way.

It breaks my soul in half, but you’ll never be able to help Kira get ready for senior prom. At the same time, it’s imperative to remember that you talked about your granddaughter in ways that just warms my soul. Hearing you talk about how much you love your family always made my day.

I guess that’s my worst fear. I kind of wish you still at an answering machine. I’d like to call you, just hear your voice. At this moment, I’m kicking myself in the ass because the last time I sent you a text message was to get a phone number. I really wish that I don’t get so focused on my own work. But at the same time, I think I avoid situations that make me feel sad or in any way uncomfortable by throwing myself into my work, and I hope you forgive me for my shortcomings as a person.

You used to remind me so much of Gram. For hours you would sit on your porch with your cup of coffee and watch the world go by. I hope that the two of you are together again and listening, the angels fly around and talking about whatever it is angels talk about. 

I miss you so much. I never got a chance to say goodbye. I know there’s been a lot of talk about how cancer took you away from us. I like to think that cancer made you a role model. So many people fall into a hard time and go into a type of bitterness or feel sorry for themselves. Even at your low points, you were a pillar of strength and brought everyone, unparalleled joy.

I love you, even though I don’t know how to show it sometimes.

I know I promised not to say anything sad after you died. I remember at the picnic we had last summer that you said you don’t want me to talk if I were to say anything super mushy, or talked about your spirituality.

I also know that you believe in life after death, and you promised to come to visit. So I wish to apologize in advance for being a little too mushy. As much as I’d love for you to make the trip back to earth and see me, you’re on a new journey now.