Being With My Aunt Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Watching my Aunt sitting at the kitchen table, so fragile, so
small, steeped in sorrow.

Concentrating on eating her enchiladas, eyes cast down upon
her plate, not meeting anybody's.

So far holding her own, driving to the graveyard, causing me
alarm as the light turned, she racingly turns left into
oncoming traffic.

Being scared to death by her maneuver, she laughs out loud,
saying, 'I knew what I was doing! I didn't want to wait for
another light. I'm sorry I scared you! '

'That's alright', I replied, as I began breathing again.

Parking the blazer, we then get out and walk to Uncle Mike's
grave, it's strewn with bright red roses, yellow mums and
many other flowers, he was very well-liked by everyone.

We stood beside his grave, made the sign of the cross and
prayed our individual prayers.

Talking about other family members laid to rest here, my
Aunt is trying to keep away tears hiding just inside.

Saying 'good-bye Mike', brings a flood of tears to my eyes,
and Aunt Nina, tears glistening says, 'don't get me started'
and we walked back to the blazer and left to go home.

Getting back to the house, other relatives were sitting on
the porch, waiting for us, unlocking the door, we all went
inside and had coffee, tea and cookies, others also came
then, joining us in quiet conversation.

It got to be quite late and everyone said their good-byes
with kisses, hugs and promises to see one another tomorrow.

It's quite amazing that over all the years, my Uncle never
made it to any major events, like graduations, birthdays,
weddings, but it seems like he was always in my life.

Like an anchor to life in the past, living in New Jersey,
he also was part of the present, visiting us in Arizona.

Enjoying his presence as it weaved in and out of our lives,
he was always there to lend a hand or say a kind word,
especially when my Mom died.

Now, flying home, holding back tears with a lump in my
throat, finishing this poem of sorrow, the funeral and
burial over, I say Good-bye, Uncle Mike, I love you forever.

(8: 57 a.m. - 9/9/02)