"It's not the years of your life that count, but the life in your years."
We lost a great Aunt this weekend. It wasn't a death I saw coming so soon. Doctors initially said we had more time, but God had other plans. Like it or not, it got me thinking about had we more time with her, would it really have been for her, or for us? The answer is evident: us, of course.
We are never prepared to say good bye to someone we love. Could my Aunt Lupe have lived any better in extra days before the inevitable end? I don't think so. There had already been so much life in her years.
"It's not the years of your life that count, but the life in your years."
I can still hear her voice. Perhaps that is what I will miss most. No, her laugh. Her laugh is like her signature: unique. She had this way of story telling that made you lean in to not miss a beat. Her facial expressions and that voice were mesmerizing as a child, but their effects remained into adulthood. She embodied a joyful spirit that I admired. She dealt with tragedy: losing her brother, her niece, her daughter, and eventually her husband, yet none dulled her spirit. Or if they did, she never let on to me.
And that meant the world to me: someone who was so close to my Nana, only to have my mind boggled by her deep bouts of depression. Our time together was often marred by her inability to get out of her bed, locked in her room for me to wonder what was wrong.
My Aunt Lupe was at the kitchen table, loud, jovial, pan dulce, coffee, and cigarette in hand. My Aunt was out and about, put together and doing life despite the hard hands she had been dealt. My Aunt Lupe was present after I lost my Nana, a part of my wedding planning and china ordering.
I'll never forget the way she threw my grandpa's blanket over her shoulder as she pranced down the aisle, laughing all the way.
I'll never forget dancing with her and my Aunt Carmen on my wedding day. The entire dance they poured into Ernie and I, telling us how proud my Nana was of me and how I deserved all the happiness in the world. And I believed them.
I believed with everything in me how much I was loved by these two women.
These two women were the closest thing to my Nana I would have on one of the biggest, most important days of my life.
They stood in the gap and they were completely enough.
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| Aunt Lupe Sarinana, Aunt Carmen Morales, and Grandpa Shelby Gaul 4/6/2002 |
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| When I look at this picture, I can clearly see my Nana . My Aunts stood in the gap and made sure I knew she was there. |
I got to tell her what her presence at our wedding meant to me.
I got to remind her that one of Anjalene's greatest memories was going to China Town with her great-great aunts and cousin Sandra. She did something that I was a scaredy cat to do on my own!
I got to remind her in a whisper that my confirmation name was Sandra, after her daughter who left this world too soon. My aunt will always be a part of that story of my name.
I got the honor of praying over her a couple hours before she transitioned into our promised life of eternity.
What a privilege it was to be a part of her life, no matter how often I did or didn't see her. She was my great aunt. She loved me and I loved her. That is enough. Love will always be enough.
