Shoes, Ships, and Sealing Wax

And in the end, it's me being the center of my universe again

We finished cleaning out my aunt's apartment this weekend. I'm sore from moving furniture and boxes of books, and I'm not sure how I'll shift things around here to make room for everything I carted home.

I turned in my key, and after that, I added something else to the list of Why This One Was Different.

I had my aunt's key from the time she moved into her apartment because I was on her call list if she pushed the "I've fallen and I can't get up" button. That never happened, but I was responsible for her if it did. I didn't have that responsibility with my grandparents.

Another thing that was different was that I saw my aunt hours before she died, when she was clearly on her way out. I missed that with my grandparents, not by design (and not without guilt).

But there is one big thing that is, I think, what's giving me such a hard time. My sister advanced the theory too, and since we both came up with it independantly, I'm guessing it is The Thing. I'm so messed up, still, because in my aunt more than anyone else I've lost, I see myself.

Not that I can compare to my aunt. The other night I was working with my parents in the apartment and my father asked if I was going to do something...can't remember what, but it was something nice for someone else...and I said "Remember at Aunt's funeral, how everyone talked about how selfless she was, how she always took care of everyone else without a complaint?"

"Yes," said my father, who'd delivered the eulogy.

"Well," I said, "Let's just say, they ain't gonna be saying that at my funeral."

My aunt was the only one in the family without children. The nieces and nephews and the subsequent generation (of which I'm one...I don't bother with the great, grand, second, etc. prefixes when it comes to family because I'm too easily confused) loved her and, in the end, cared for her. I joke that I've been buying bicycles for my sister's kids in hopes that they'll take care of me, but joking aside, I think the only thing that bothers me about not having children is the fear that I'll be dying alone. Alone, and with no legacy, nothing to show for having been here. No mark, no matter how small. I've said a hundred times the last couple of weeks "When the kids find this after I die," but what if the kids don't even go though the boxes?

Posted by Nic at August 27, 2006 05:51 PM | TrackBack