It’s always difficult to lose someone you love. Even if you weren’t with them, physically with them often, you were still with them in your heart and your mind. When you receive something that they had planned to give to you, but had passed away before they had gotten the chance, it makes your love for that one special person sweeter, stronger even. Knowing that they thought about you, went out of their way to do something wonderful for you, just proves that they adore you back, and wanted to show you how they felt. To have something, which had been in their possession, helps bring out the pleasant moments, the moments that you remember most, the best moments. The moments that may hurt at first to look back on, knowing that you can never get that time back, but the same moments that you look back upon and smile at; they bring out the best in you. To obtain anything, to get even but a glimpse, one precious glimpse into the past. A letter especially, helps rouse those fantastic moments, buried deep under all of the troubles, worries, doubts of your everyday life, and put a grin of remembrance of your face. I was lucky; a letter is what I received.



It was a chilly May evening when my mother asked me to get the mail. So, annoyed and reluctant to leave the couch where I sat and watched an old Disney Channel rerun that I had seen a million times, I got up and moved at a creeping pace over to the vestibule. I heaved open the big green door and stepped outside to retrieve the mail. I grabbed the regular-sized stack of mail, and as usual, started to flip through the monotonous white envelopes and magazines that all seem to look the same as the ones that came the day before. Without a purpose, I scoured through the mail, nothing was typically addressed to me; my eyes suddenly fell on a light pink envelope with a stamp from Michigan.



“Mo-” I paused mid-word, realizing that this pretty little envelope was addressed to me.

“Never mind.” I called into the kitchen where my mom and dad had been chatting. I wonder what this could be. I thoughtfully pondered the possibilities.



I plopped the rest of the mail down on the coffee table; still staring at this small enclosed object, thinking of crazy ideas of what it could be. Maybe it’ll be a letter from a long lost family member who was driven to the point of lunacy because when he the told world that aliens landed in his yard and tried to recruit him for an alien army from the planet Snarp;, everyone shunned him, no surprise. Well, that was certainly far-fetched Danielle. I suddenly remembered that some of my distant family lives in Michigan. Cautiously and carefully, I started to open up the envelope, unveiling a bat-mitzvah card. I read the front, and opened up the card as though it was a small shell at the beach that would break into smithereens by the slightest of breezes. It was from Michigan, it had to be important. I began to read what was inside the card. It was from Jayne, my great-aunt-Jeans’ daughter.



My great-aunt-Jean had passed away a few weeks before May 5th, my bat-mitzvah, and I received the card about one week after her passing. She had died from cancer. She, like her sister (my great-aunt- Patsy) had fought many long, hard years before losing the uphill battle to that horrible disease that has taken many lives before. The very same disease that has stolen thousands of lives, leaving families distraught over the people they love. I had only met and spoke to my aunt Jean (that I can recall) once, when I was six. She had a large battered-looking oxygen tank with her, and was sitting for the most part. She was kind and loved talking to all of the kids.
Though I didn’t know her very well, nor did I write to her nearly as much as I should’ve, it was as though her mere existence in the world made me stronger as a person; just knowing that she was there, fighting hard, surrounded by those whom she loved. It kept me going when times got tough. When we had gotten word that she had passed away, I was overcome by this numb feeling. I felt no sadness, no anger even. All I felt was emptiness. A couple days later, the real sadness hit me like the great wave brewing at the horizon of where the ocean and the sky rendezvous out in a sea of ongoing nothingness, in which one can see long before it comes close to crashing.
This was the card that was sent:
“This card is from my Mom (your Great Aunt Jean). I took her shopping for cards a few years back & she thought she better this ahead of time, she was pretty slow getting around- but she wanted so much to still be a part of everyone’s life. This is the last of her stash of cards I found with her belongings- I know she wishes you well & a happy future- as do I. Do a little jazz dance for Aunt Jean-

Love,
Jayne



She told me something that really struck a lot of emotion from me. This snippet from the card was: “This was the last of her stash of cards.” I had gotten her last card. I couldn’t believe this. I was completely overwhelmed with many conflicting emotions; pride, sorrow and joy flooded throughout my body.



At that moment I wished that I had written her one more letter. To this day, I wish that I had called her more. I wish most of all that I could see her one last time. Talk to her again. To even only sit beside her, in silence even, one last time. Just to be with my great-aunt-Jean one more time.



After I finished reading the card to myself, I decided to read it to my parents.

“Wow, Danielle,” my mom said as she looked up thoughtfully after putting down an outdoor furniture magazine. “You are a very lucky girl.”



Since I have received the special card, I have thought and acted upon the many different and important lessons that my aunt Jean has taught me, unknowingly. Life is precious, and has to be fought for, no matter what one’s age is. More importantly, once life’s gone, it’s gone forever; and can never be brought back. You have to live life to the fullest, with the people you love. This has helped me put my aunt Jean’s passing into perspective. I know that she lived her life well, with the people she loved. I also know that she wouldn’t want me dwelling over things for too long, even her own passing. My aunt Jean lived a happy life, that’s all that matters in the end.





In Memory of Jean Parker