A couple weeks ago I wrote about a family crisis. My aunt, who had suffered what the doctors thought were a series of small strokes, had slipped into a coma.
This woman, Auntie Glo, suffered from more health issues than most people can even comprehend.
A diabetic, Auntie Glo dealt with a kidney transplant, a kidney/pancreas transplant, more walking boots than I can count, sepsis, brain tumors, a leg amputated, and blindness.
(As a side note: did you know that when you get a new kidney or pancreas, they leave the old ones in? True story. Weird story.)
And she did it all with an infectious positive spirit. (Note to self: suck it up.) Not to mention, she was pretty much a cat with nine lives.
That's not a metaphor.
Last week, the decision was made to move Auntie Glo to a hospice facility, as the doctors had determined that the brain damage was too great to recover from. The series of strokes, combined with the radiation she had, had killed off too many cells.
Yesterday, shortly after midnight, Auntie Glo took her last breath.
When my dad came into to my room early in the morning, my first thought was relief. Finally she is rid of her broken, bruised and battered body.
But there is definitely sadness as well.
This was the woman who took me to what may have been my first movie in theaters--101 Dalmatians. She could make you laugh like nothing else. She paid for the order at Starbucks for the person behind her in the drive thru. She asked my sister and I for help styling her wig at Thanksgiving.
Auntie Glo was a great woman.