I have heard it said that the “second death” is the death of everyone who ever knew you, and in a sense, that it is sadder than the first because then the person will no longer be in anyone’s memories. It is with this in mind that I write this blog because I don’t want to forget.
My last remaining aunt died this past week. Aunt Connie was my mother’s sister. Her given name was Constance Marie, but she hated her first name and always went by Connie (and briefly Marie, but I digress). She was ninety-two, and I could always remember her birthday because it was two days after mine. I imagine that is why she always remembered mine too, but in my heart I know this wasn’t true because she didn’t forget my sisters’ birthdays either. That is, up until several years ago when I received a card…
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Jane Wilson 