Today, I am sad.
Auntie Ruthie, my mom's older sister by 10 years, died today at 85 years old. She had 7 children, and although they are scattered geographically, including one son in Panama and another in China, they never really left home. They grew up with a mother who is old-world people. The kind that is firmly focused on family, complains never, asks for nothing, and gets everything in return.
While sad, I am warmed with the childhood memories that are suddenly flooding back to me, long buried under the passage of so much time and the making of my own family's memories. Images of the times I spent in her house on 9th Avenue in Chomedey rush at me today as her passing takes me back to the late sixties and early seventies.
Her house was loud. Alive with conversations crossing each other over the dining room table laden with eats. Arms stretching for the salt or a basket of bread, a lot of animated opinion-making, the occasional spill that never interfered with a thought or an argument.
I don't remember seeing my aunt doing laundry, but somehow my cousins were dressed and proper. I don't remember her leaving to run errands, yet every cupboard was full. She was always there, filling her space with life, love, laughter. Much like the Walkers on the ABC hit tv series "Brothers & Sisters", they somehow managed to gather in the heart of the home where they grew up to keep the family fires burning.
I think about my aunt passing and I see an era fading into history. Those good old days were her creation and no amount of "not now, I'm busy" will ever create that for me in my home with my relationships. Adieu Auntie and thank you for this very important lesson.
Shari Reinhart is a creative and commercial freelance writer based in