And then there were two...

The last few weeks have not been very pleasant. I'm trying to move past being morbid and depressed -- I'm coming around, slowly but surely. But not in this post.

Yesterday, my 95 year old aunt died. She was one of two of my mother's remaining siblings -- so now there are just two left of the Bazemore girls. My mother is the next to the youngest and the other aunt is next, after her. Both are in their 80s. There were 11 of them in all (13 if you count a set of twins who died soon after birth). I don't have a sister -- and my brother is 14 years older than I am. I love my brother -- and we get along -- but I don't really know what it's like to argue, fight, play or share with a sibling .

Over the years, most of Mama's sisters and brothers (there were two uncles I never even knew) have passed on, for varying reasons -- but most have lived to a ripe old age. Aunt Mary, up until a few months ago, was a live wire -- but then, over the last few weeks, she began to lose mental and physical function. In truth, she would not have wanted to continue that way -- none of us would.

I will remember Aunt Mary with fondness -- I saw her a lot while growing up but not so much in later years. I think the last time I saw her was about a year and a half ago (she lives about four hours away -- not a day trip). She was a tightwad but she was also kind and loving.

I'm feeling a little guilty now -- something I excel in -- because I'm experiencing very little grief over Aunt Mary's passing. Maybe it's because she lived a long, full life. Or maybe because, at the end, it was time for her to go. Or maybe it's simply because I'm still so emotionally fragile that I've put up a wall which nothing else can penetrate.

Godspeed, Aunt Mary, you will be missed.