In Loving memory
Last Sunday, there was no blog. I couldn't quite find the words to say what was on my mind because you were gone. And no amount of knowing it was coming was enough to soften the blow. My cheerleader, who faithfully read all my blog posts and held me as I cried before surgery, my aunt, was taken away from us by the one thing I wish never tied us together. We both had an uncanny ability to be both sugary sweet and sassy stubborn within the same breath. But in the end, it was cancer that we both understood in ways we should never have had to. In April of this year, when I walked into the cancer center to see her, she shined so brightly—lit from within at the thought of putting cancer behind her and the chance to watch her great-grandkids grow. It's still one of my favorite memories of her because she was so genuinely happy. And we laughed and cried as we shared our traumas while sipping Hospital apple juice. I didn't think it would come back. I thought we were both free. So when it did, and you didn't tell us, I know you were praying for a miracle. One that would make it so the people you love would never have to feel that fear again. You kept your secret not out of selfishness but out of love.
This week, we honored your wishes and buried you next to your granddaughters and within sight of your Mother. Although we always had different thoughts on what we want to happen to our bodies after we've passed, In that moment, as we stood there, placing symbolic stones and flowers over you, I understood perfectly why you chose this. I pictured you resting so peacefully and finally pain-free, looking down on us with that sweet, nurturing smile. I decided to forget you were sick—instead holding onto moments when you were so fiercely alive. Like the time when I got you and your sisters to ride the Expedition Everest roller coaster at Animal Kingdom, and your clip-on ponytail fell off from the whiplash. We laughed so hard our bellies ached. It was the one and only time it was ever worth it to purchase the overpriced photo captured mid-ride.
As fate would have it, you were born on Christmas day—the fourth of five girls who drive each other crazy but love each other deeply. This year, and every Christmas to come, we will remember the gift it was to have you for as long as we did. Thank you for the endless purse snacks and thoughtful little gifts. Thank you for being my Mom's barely older sister when the other girls were too grown up to play with her. Thank you for always supporting me and loving me. Thank you for being entirely you, Titi Jacky.
