Until we meet again…

Goodbye sounds so final. So long, until we meet again, then leaves a little glimmer of hope that by chance or arrangement, there is some future possible contact.

My mother’s older brother lost his first wife in childbirth along with their fourth child. In time, the family network brought my Uncle into the society of his second wife, my Aunt Elizabeth. The soft spoken petite figure of a lady born in Budapest, Hungary, who never lost her slight accent, took on the job of raising my three cousins and never bore a child of her own.

Sitting in her room at Hillcrest Hospital across from my cousin Maryann and next to Maryann’s daughter, Rebecca, a flood of memories rush across the landscape of my mind, family picnics, Thanksgiving dinners, the shared meals, the laughter, talk, the visits when I came back to town from faraway places.

This slightly over ninety-year veteran of the business of life lays there looking comfortable and as if she is sleeping, but has not regained consciousness since she had a massive stroke two days earlier.

…bye Aunt Elizabeth, until we meet again…


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