I've known that I wanted to write this since early Monday morning, but it is now Thursday, and I still don't know exactly what to say.
My very sweet aunt, my only close Vargason relative, passed away on Monday morning, after a brave fight against Lupus. She was my dad's only sibling and, since she never married, she had no family of her own. Because of this, she adopted Jeff and I as her own. We were always treated as treasures to her. And as adults, she became a treasure to us.
She lived in Pocatello, Idaho for most of her life. We saw her many times during my childhood (at least 3 or 4 times a year), but since following God's direction for our own lives meant moving around the country, we have seen her very little over the past several years. Isn't it amazing, though, that someone you cannot see often still has such an affect on your life? You see, she was an amazing support. Her shoulder was terribly strong and quite capable of carrying our burdens. She was incredibly generous, usually sacrificing her own needs to make another smile. She listened, truly listened, when I needed to vent, and seemed to sense when something was not quite right.
I am not one who remembers a lot of details, for whatever reason God did not bless me with a great memory, but a few stories really stand out in my brain. We always camped with her and my grandma and grandpa V. over Memorial day. One time their friends joined us with their little dog. (Now I have no idea who they were, but I did then.) At one point, Sandra and I were going on a walk and the dog came at me for some reason; again, I don't remember details real well, but I remember feeling like the dog was going to attack me and I remember Sandra yelling at the dog and kicking it (hard!) away from me. That may seem like a silly little story to remember, and at the time I was a little irritated that Sandra had kicked that little poochie. But it didn't take long to realize what had really happened. She would do anything, even kick her friend's beloved dog, to protect me from danger. I always felt safe with her. Isn't it strange the little things we remember?
And much later in life, when Dave and I were first married and living in Florida, Sandra and her friend visited us to see the sights. I remember her absolute awe at seeing the Atlantic ocean. She collected the tiniest shells, just like a child would, and collected them in a fast food drink cup. She joyously picked grapefruit from our backyard tree and ate with glee, even though the fruit would give her awful mouth sores (one side effect of the disease she was already fighting). Anyway, all along her trip, she was constantly grabbing things to buy for this person or that. I remember her list of many (MANY!) people to whom she wanted to bring a "little something." At one point I said, "You should pick up a souvenir for YOURSELF." She looked at me, almost baffled, and said, "Well, I don't need anything." She operated like this for as long as I knew her.
I don't mean to ramble, but I wanted to take just a moment and remember her. I can't go across the country for her memorial, it's just too hard at this time in our lives, but I wanted to write out a few things. I wanted you to know her, just a little. She was suffering so much at the end that we were all praying that God would just end the pain and take her home. So when I got the phone call, I almost felt relieved. I now picture her walking on streets of gold with my grandma and grandpa (and many others), enjoying their company and enjoying a body free of sickness and pain. Even still, I cry out of joy for her. I'll miss her, yes. Without a doubt. But, I am so thrilled for her now.
And I can't wait to see her again.
This picture was taken at the massive toy store, FAO Schwartz,
in Orlando. We just couldn't resist.
This picture, one of my favorites, was taken when my aunt met our firstborn,
her first great-niece. They clicked instantly.
