Today we buried my Aunt Evelyn, age 70. While I was growing up, she was one of those relatives which I’d see once a year. Not that her death is any less painful to those around her, it’s just I didn’t know her as well as other aunts and uncles.
I found out some stories about her. She was truly one of those who cared for the weak and unwanted. When her granddaughter was caught up in the bad life and couldn’t care for her two sons, Evelyn took in her great-grandsons. At her age she should have been enjoying retirement. Instead she was battling reoccuring tumors and raising two great-grandchildren. Those two boys probably would have been put in state custody if Evelyn had not stepped in and said that she would care for them. It was a story I hadn’t expected to learn at this funeral. I regret that I did not know her better. At the funeral I found that she was truly loved and appreciated. She was somebody’s aunt, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, great-great-grandmother, and friend.
Evelyn married at age 15, while my dad was merely 5 years old. Her sons and daughters were slightly younger than my dad and his younger siblings. In turn Evelyn’s grandchildren were my age. There is a whole branch of relatives on that side of the family tree that I have never known, not because I choose not to know them, but because there are so many it is difficult to keep up.
Evelyn reminded me of my grandmother. She spoke similar to her and had the same mannerism. With her death takes away a part of my memories of my Granny. While watching the photo DVD at the visitation, memories of my Granny and Granddaddy were brought back. And I realized how much I miss them. They passed when I was in college and working at my first job respectively, a mere 10 years ago, but it seems just like yesterday. I wonder how it would have been now if they were still alive. Would they be proud of how I turned out? Would they love their great-grandchildren as much as they cared for me and my sister? The answer, of course, is yes. No doubt.
Even at my worst, my grandparents still adored me. Always first to give me an encouraging word. Always the proudest of their grandchildren. What would they think today? I can hear my Granddaddy exclaming that I had gotten myself a “Doodlebug” (i.e. VW Beetle), as he always referred to my dad’s 1972 Super Beetle.
Growing up it was my Granny who babysat my sister and me, while my parents were working during the day. She took in no pay. Merely being around her grandchildren was reward enough. And she rewarded us with trips to McDonald’s in her blue Chevy Impala…one which I could barely see over the dashboard.
During her later years she suffered. I could tell it must have been the beginning of the end when my Granddaddy passed. Granny soon followed just a few years later.
If your grandparents are still alive, visit them. Cherish the moments you have with them.