Aunt Glue is fading.  The end is soon, according to her son.  Aunt Glue and her son and daughter-in-law have a plan to keep her pain-free and peaceful in these hours.  I need to respect that.  SOB needs to respect that.  BOB needs to respect that.  But SOB was trying to get coverage at the hospital and BOB was looking into flights to come here.  And I was trying to rent a mini-bus to schlep everyone to see Aunt Glue.

Because you can never say, “I love you,” too many times or squeeze someone’s hand too often.

Because death is permanent and, right now, she is alive. And she has a right to die the way she wants.  That is the last decision a person can (with any luck) make.  And that decision is sacrosanct and unimpeachable.

And, here I am, helpless and hopeless in New York City, waiting for the word that the woman

who introduced my parents,

who (with my uncle) shared my mother’s last days and minutes on this earth,

who was such a large figure in my youth,

who hosted the happiest family celebrations of my childhood (never mind, the overcooked chicken),

who was my solace after Mom died,

who embraced POB and SOS,

who, defying all odds, came to my wedding and danced, and

who was the only one to whom SOS would ever write a letter, much less maintain a correspondence,

has died.

She had a long and good life, but not an easy one.

Dad is sometimes clueless as a result of age and brain injury.  But he is so very aware of Aunt Glue’s condition and has a very heavy heart.  Some relationships are so deep that even dementia and brain injury can’t erase them.

One of our greatest generation is losing her fight with time and disease.  Maybe not today or tomorrow.  But soon.  Yet, on her terms (as much as is possible under the circumstances).

And that is the way it should be for our greatest generation.  Even if it breaks our hearts not to see her just one more time.