You know those people in your life, the ones who radiate energy and celebration simply by showing up?
My Auntie Sandy was that person for me. For my family. For a crazy extended “family” whose very definition defied distance, thanks to the equivocal magic of the internet.
We lost my Auntie Sandy last weekend.
It was unexpected, incredibly cruel, and remains incomprehensible. When I heard the news, my first thought was- “What? No. I’m sitting here, making Valentines for my kids out of paper she just shipped to me. Put her on. She’ll tell you. It was the package with the sparkly sheets and Kandinsky prints. She’ll know the one.”
Barring that, I wanted to reference the empty shipping container for Graeter’s ice cream in the garage that held a treasure trove for us at Christmas. This past Christmas. The same kind of box that she gifted us with every Christmas. How could someone be gone who literally just mailed ice cream from Cincinnati?
To be honest, I still haven’t come back from that mindset. When I spoke with my Uncle Joe- her husband, my godfather- on the phone, I kept waiting to hear her piping up behind him- “Joe, tell her about this” or asking him to ask my opinion on the latest thing she had shared on Facebook. In a social media universe that thrives on political discourse and anger, Sandy was the one posting about new baby otters, decadent dessert recipes, the history of bee-keeping.
She and my uncle were each other’s universe for fifty years. One of my parents’ oldest and dearest friends, she considered my Mom her soul sister. She knew her goddaughter- my youngest sister- to be the child of her heart.
She had a knack for discovering treasures. Vintage earrings, glimmering scarves, Christmas tree ornaments shaped like tiny, gilded mandolins. Every birthday present from her was my new, immediate favorite- no question. For my 16th birthday she gave me what she termed “a modern tiara,” a stainless steel marvel of a headband, complete with spiraling corkscrew “flowers” and tiny pastel crystals. Who finds those things? And more importantly- who knows exactly who to give that kind of gift to, and be correct 100% of the time? When I was 10, I received a hardcover Swan Lake book with Chris Van Allsburg illustrations- very grownup for a ten year-old, and a gift which cemented the idea that I was special, so here was this exceptionally special gift.
She gave. Gardens, literature, comforting objects for the home, love.
Sandy was a special gift, too.
My kids will hang their stockings next Christmas- the ones she hand-embroidered for them while they were still in the womb, and they’ll know her. Because someone that intuitive, that creative of a spirit, isn’t ever truly gone from us. Eventually we’ll all remember this, and celebrate her memory (and memories) the way she always celebrated ours.
With love.
Speak Your Mind