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To My Loving Aunt,

Today is going to be different. A week ago today my aunt's funeral took place. I wrote this after getting home from the funeral. I don't know if I'm back for sure yet or how much I'll be present. But, this is something I think I need to do to grieve.

I want to share some memories of my aunt and some of the things from the funeral.

To my loving my aunt,

As a child, I always remember going to your house or your kids being at my house or grandma and grandpa's house. There's a tradition we didn't mean to make, but it's come to light in the week after your death. In the yard, there's this tree. The tree has a hole in it about 2 feet from the ground. As children, my mom and her siblings made "soup" in the tree. It's "soup" made of grass, dirt, water, whatever we could find in the yard or around the house. No one told us grandkids about the tree but we found it. We've been carrying on the tradition of the "soup" tree without anyone telling us, until a week ago, that our parents made "soup" too. It's the "soup" tree and our family has a connection to the tree by our decision to pretend we're making soup.

I remember going to the zoo with you, your kids, grandma, my mom, and my siblings. My aunt loved the zoo. We went every summer and every winter to see the Christmas lights.

As children, you told my mom ridiculous things. There's a woods behind my grandparents house. As children, you told my mom that a bear lived in the woods even though we don't live in an area where anyone has ever seen a bear. Deer, yes. Bears, no. You told my mom that a monster lived in your closet to keep her in bed at night. Even though the closet has no doors and it's that deep so it's completely ridiculous to think my mom fell for that.

Throughout high school, you went to all of my marching band shows. Every single one. No matter how far away they were. You went. You loved the music, the marching, everything.

You have gone to all of T's football games thus far. Even after your diagnosis, you still went. It meant the world my brother that you went to cheer him on.

You helped so many people over the years with your work as a STNA. All the residents in the nursing home were lucky to have you. Your big, soft, kind heart always made everyone happy and at ease.

You are James Nana and always will be. He loved you so much. No one reads him stories better than you. Your love for reading has definitely rubbed off on him. Even though he's young, too young to completely grasp the situation. He knew you were sick. He knew his Nana was sick. But he knows now that his Nana is in a better place.

Although we all hoped you would kick cancer's ass, I think we all knew that the treatments were just buying you time. We're thankful for the time it bought us to bring us just that many more memories of you. We cherish every moment you were able to spend with us. You're one of the strongest women I know, and the best aunt anyone can ever ask for. You are such a fighter, but we know cancer doesn't care. Cancer doesn't care about anyone who loves you, of you, or of anything except thriving. Cancer took your life after 2 ½ years of fighting.

At your funeral today, we all had a hard time. It broke my heart to see my step-dad cry at the reminder of the disease that took his father a decade ago. I held your son, and it broke my heart to see your youngest cry when he saw the urn. It broke my heart to see your husband cry when your grandson said to him, "It's okay, Paw-Paw. Nana ain't sick no more. She all better now." I held my mom as she cried. I held my sister as she cried. All through this, I didn't shed a tear. I thought I already shed enough. But when I saw T cry, when we both know he never sheds a tear about anything, I couldn't help but break down.

They asked me to speak today since my mom couldn't without breaking down. I talked of the zoo and the ridiculous things you told my mom. But when I saw T crying silently in his seat I couldn't help but say something directly to him. I told him. "Amy, mom, Morgan, and I have always ridden your ass about everything, Tyler. Nothing will stop mom, Morgan and I from riding your ass about everything from video games to school to football. Just because Amy isn't here physically doesn't mean she'll stop riding your ass. You'll always know what Amy would say to you about what you did or going to do. She'll still be with you at every football game cheering you on. She'll never leave you or us because we know her and she's always with us in our thoughts and memories." I know you heard me. But it doesn't hurt to hear it again. You mean everything to us, and we're sad to see you go. But at the same time, we're happy that you're finally free of pain and sickness.

The poem today on display is definitely one for you. It reads:

I'm Free

Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free

I'm following the path God laid for me,

I took His hand when I heard him call

I turned my back and left it all.

I could not stay another day

To laugh, to love, to work or play.

Tasks left undone must stay that way

I found that place at the close of day.

If my parting has left a void

Then fill it with remembered joy.

A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss.

Ah yes, these things, I too, will miss.

Be not burdened with times of sorrow.

I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow.

My life's been full, I savored much.

Good friends, good times,

A loved one's touch.

Perhaps my time seemed all too brief;

Don't lengthen it now with undue grief.

Lift up your heart and share with me

God wanted me now, He set me free.

~ Unknown

    We share the same initials. ARS. I'll carry you with me anywhere I go. I don't believe we completely leave this world, and I know you're still watching us, loving us, supporting us, and protecting us.

Love,

Your Army

ARS

September 2, 1971 -- May 18, 2018