Sally

My Aunt Sally passed away two years ago yesterday.  She was a major influence on my father’s life, and in turn, my own.

Sally moved in with my grandparents when my dad was born, and lived with my grandparents until she passed away, at the age of eighty-eight.  My father was fifty-five.  She raised my father, took him to concerts (Elvis!), taught  him to save, and molded him (mostly) into the person he is today.

She treated me as if I was her granddaughter.  She never married or had children of her own.  My father, was her child.  I, was her grandchild.  She always had a word of wisdom for me, no matter what the situation was.

When Sally was younger, she worked as the executive assistant for some big wig hot shot downtown.  She was the lifeline of the office.  When I was little, I thought she never worked, and just took care of my dad and his brother.  She worked.  She worked really hard.  And lessons of hard work, integrity, and self preservation were being passed to me from a very young age, and I didn’t even realize it.

Sally paid for my first year of college.  In fact, I’m fairly certain that Sally paid for all of my college.  I’m fairly certain that post mortem, she is STILL paying for my college.

Sally was always happy, even when she was sick.  She never let anyone see her anything less than with a smile on her face.  Through multiple bouts of cancer, and open heart surgery, she always had color in her face and a smile.

The last time I saw Sally, she was suffering from dementia.  She had trouble remembering things moments after they happened, and often thought she was in a different time.  She didn’t know who I was, but knew my father, and regarded him as a teenager.  When we moved Sally from the hospital to Hospice care, we left her to go get dinner, with the intention of coming back the next day.  When we left, I taught her how to fist bump.

The next day when we came back, the first thing she wanted to do was fist bump me.  After that, she had brief moments of lucidity, mostly though, her dementia was severe.

The weekend before she passed, my dad was at dinner with one of my sisters.  He swore he heard someone calling his name.  My sister didn't hear it.  The next morning, he flew to Florida, and went straight to Sally's apartment.  She was lucid, saw him, recognized him, and spoke with him.  Then, she passed.