As I sit here, reflecting on all the good times we shared, I can say without hesitation that you were one of my favorite aunts. You weren’t afraid to discipline me when I needed it, and I still remember how you’d run to tell my mother—earning me the dreaded double whammy. My backside sore and my pride even more so! I laugh about it now, but back then, I was furious. Still, I always knew you loved me, and my brothers like we were your own.
I was always excited about the summers we spent in Beckley, West Virginia. Sometimes, I didn’t want to leave. I know I was a handful—challenging and a bit much to manage—but you never gave up on me. You loved me through it all.
I remember how deeply you grieved when Hasahn was taken from us. You had seen him come into the world, and though he didn’t get to see his full journey, you were there as he was laid to rest. That pain stayed with you—it was something no mother-figure should ever have to endure.
The last time I saw you will always stay with me. We had planned a surprise birthday bash—you had no idea! Family came from everywhere. I brought my mother down, and when you saw her, you were so overwhelmed with joy you couldn’t hold back the tears. All your siblings were there, gathered in the living room, sharing stories and laughter. Each of you had a wheelchair, and in a beautiful, light-hearted moment, you exchanged them like gifts—just to be closer. That was your way: finding joy and connection, even in limitation.
I also remember the time you came to visit us in Washington, D.C. Your visits always felt too short. It was as if time moved faster when you were around. But your presence, your laugh, your warmth—left a lasting impression that no clock could erase.
Five months later, we lost you to cancer. My mother took it hard. Cancer—this cruel disease that affects more than 191,000 people worldwide—claimed your body, but it never touched your spirit. You were not defined by it. You accepted it with grace and strength, as though you were preparing us for what was to come. You understood there is a better place waiting—one our Heavenly Father has prepared for us.
To anyone reading this, I say: get close to God. Build a personal relationship with Him. Live your life fully and appreciate every moment. Time is a gift that moves in only one direction. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.
Aunt Lady, I miss your singing. I miss your laugh. I miss your sassiness. I just miss you. But I know that cancer can’t hurt you anymore. You’ll live on in my memories, and in my heart, forever.
Rest in peace.