This time last year, my great aunt and Alan's Aunt Judy both took sick. My aunt, much older, passed within months of finding out she was ill. Aunt Judy was with us one year and, at the age of 56, died last Monday.
Supposedly, my aunt left me some money. She also used her final testament to show each of her family members who she thought of very much and who she didn’t think of at all.
Aunt Judy, as far as I know, didn’t leave her extended family anything. But she did leave friends and relatives with a sense of gratefulness of having known her, of loss for having to part with her so soon. Aunt Judy did leave me with her beautiful stash of yarn and I feel honored indeed.
So from one aunt I have some money and a feeling of betrayal, from the other a collection of yarn and a sense of being loved.
This has taught me something about dying well.
I’d rather pass on leaving my family and friends with the knowledge that without a doubt, with all my being, I loved them and thought well of them. Alan received nothing material as a result of his aunt’s passing but I don’t think he wonders for a second how much she loved and respected him. I’d rather be in his shoes any day.