Over the weekend, I flew to Iowa to attend my aunt’s memorial service.  As many in my family know, I don’t *do* funerals.  When you bury your baby brother, your mother and your father all before the age of 11 – any funeral thereafter brings out the pain of losing your family all over again.  But, the funerals are never-ending because God continues to call His angels home throughout your life. 

I have had the “I love you but I will not attend your funeral” conversation with some of the family members that I am very close to.  They know me, they understand my position and we make the most of the time we have together on this earth to never leave anything unsaid – especially the lovepart.  The numbers of funerals I *will* attend is well known to my husband.  I gave him a list some time ago.  He will respect my wishes, as I will respect his if he were in the same shoes.  Fortunately, my husband’s side of the family is very small and we are close to most of them.  There have been times when he will go to a funeral for a loved one (not necessarily family) without me, and I will go without him.  The only family funeral (on my side of the family) we attended together where many family members were present was my brother Mike’s….but, we were so ate up in our grief that I barely remember who was there and who wasn’t. 

My Aunt Leonard, who just passed away unexpectedly last week, was one of the funerals where I felt I needed to be there.  For myself, it was to say goodbye and begin the grieving process and mourn my loss.  I also really needed to hug my Uncle Honey, my aunt’s husband.  And her kids.  Nothing had ever been left unsaid between my aunt and I.  We were extremely close most of my life.  She almost always lived with or near my grandparents (my mom’s parents), so when I would go see them, I would see Aunt Leonard.  I often stayed with Aunt Leonard and her family because my grandparents didn’t have room in their little apartment for me. 

Aunt Leonard was my mom”s youngest sister, and she died at the age of 55.  In my book, that’s way too young.  My youngest daughter and I just spent a weekend with her and Uncle Honey in August this year.  Then, they kept my youngest daughter so they could enjoy her for about a week before bringing her to where I was staying at my foster parent’s house.  They truly enjoyed spending time with her, and she with them.  They dubbed her a mini-me and Aunt Leonard said she reminded her of me when I was 11-years-old. 

No mention of my Aunt Leonard would be complete without a story.  Aunt Leonard loved family stories, and told them every single time she got together with anyone in our family.  She was definitely the family story teller – and now?  Of course I wish I had written down all of her stories.  But alas, that’s what memories are for.

Last year when I saw her, she had all of the family photos she owned out and as we went through them, she’d get to telling a story and both of us would laugh until we had tears running down our faces, and had to get up and tinkle between stories because we had laughed so hard.

Once I was an adult and had my own car, I went to see Grandma and Grandpa about once a month during nice weather.  In Iowa, the winter months I wasn’t so faithful, but it was okay and they understood that I didn’t want to drive during an Iowa blizzard (and there were many blizzards in Iowa).  My grandma was my LOVE lifeline – I have always contributed my being able to grow up somewhat successfully, despite living in four foster homes, to my Gramma from Tramma’s love (God’s love not withstanding).  She ALWAYS loved me, and she told me so.  Others may have loved me, but not with the same unconditional love that I got from my Gramma from Tramma.  I was her favorite grandchild and she never hesitated to tell people that.  And she had a LOT of grandchildren, since my mother was one of 13 kids (though two died in infancy, so she had 11 children living at one time or another).

Aunt Leonard once lived in a little house, just a little ways from the retirement apartments that my grandparents lived in.  She drove one of those death trap Pinto cars.  Many times, I’d have to push her car down the road until it got up enough speed to pop the clutch so it would start.  Anyway, she told me she had a boyfriend and that he was coming over to meet me, have dinner and spend some time with her and her daughters.  When he got there, she sorta introduced me to him – except she never told me his name!  After a week of seeing him in and out of her house, all I ever heard was “Honey” this and “Honey” that, when she would talk to him.  Hence, once they married, he became Uncle Honey to me – and always will be.  Even my kids call him Uncle Honey, because that’s all I’ve ever called him.  I had to relay this same story to the family and friends who came to Uncle Honey and Aunt Leonard’s house after her services and lunch.  They could NOT figure out how come I called him that, since they all knew him by his given name. 

In the coming days, months and years – I know that my Aunt Leonard will be another angel on my heavy shoulders.  I will still want to call her regularly, just as I still want to call my Gramma from Tramma and my brother Mike.  She, too, loved me unconditionally.  And she loved my husband and our kids.  But, I wish her Godspeed on her journey to the great promise of an eternal life.  And those of us she left behind will now have to tell her stories, and laugh until tears are running down our face and we have to tinkle just to catch our breaths.