I received word this morning that my favorite aunt, who has been sick for quite some time, has decided to have no more treatment and has been moved to a hospice. She isn’t expected to live very long.
My Aunt Doris is my father’s younger sister. Born in Montana, she lived most of her life in a series of small towns in Idaho. I remember her as an energetic younger woman rather that the older lady she’s become. I prefer it that way. She was a female working when such things were fairly rare. She worked for years as a draftsperson for J.R. Simplot and earlier as a draftsperson at Boeing in Seattle during WWII. She worked on the B-29 bomber I’m told.
It reminds me of how I’m getting older, not in a sad way so much as in a resigned way. The trials and tribulations of people facing life and death sorts of struggles mean more as you get older. At least they do for me.
I just want to say thanks to Doris, even if she can’t hear me, for all the nice e-mails and visits when I was younger. You’re a pretty tough old girl…and I mean that in only the best way.