Goodbye, Aunt Rose

I want to live, and die, like Aunt Rose.

Great Aunt Rose died last week at the age of 91, after having been married for 71 years. She was put under general anesthesia for gall bladder surgery and sadly, never woke up.

Or maybe not so sadly.

It's never happy news when someone you love dies, but considering that we all must, this seems to me like a good way to go. She didn't suffer. She didn't have dementia or linger through a debilitating illness. She lived on her own until the very end, depending on no one but herself. She went to sleep and never woke up, and I can only hope my own end is as peaceful and painless.

Aunt Rose lost her sweetheart 16 months ago, and she seemed a bit lost and lonely ever since. She spoke often of Uncle Bob, always on the verge of tears, always with a longing I wished I could satisfy. She woke up to his voice in the middle of the night and often saw him walking through the retirement home they had shared for 30 years. But this didn't make her happy, it made her sad. And I think more than anything she wanted to be with him.

And now she is. And that's nothing to be sad about.