Auntie Wendy

Today would have been Auntie Wendy's birthday. She died on May 22nd. I've wanted to write a post for a while now. I've started and stopped several times. Maybe I wasn't in the right mindset. Maybe I just didn't quite have the words.

Auntie Wendy was like a second mother to me. She was my mom's oldest sister. She was my godmother. When I was born, she told my mom, "she's my baby too." When my parents would travel, she would take care of my brothers and me. I'll never forget taking a road trip with my mom and Auntie Wendy one summer. She taught us a "game" -- find a bad word for every letter of the alphabet. As kids, we thought that this was awesome and hilarious! She was that kind of aunt. We got to do all those things with her that parents never allow. Before moving to Boston, she drove with me down to Niagara Falls (USA) to get my social security card. While I was pregnant with the twins, she and I drove all the way down to Rochester to pick up a few items at our friends' house. I loved and cherished our chats on those long drives. She always offered me such a unique perspective on things. She lived about 45 minutes outside of Toronto. I frequently met her half way at Whole Foods for coffee or lunch. I'll never forget arranging lunch so that I could show her the ultrasound photo of my two perfect little twin gummy bears. I was as excited to show her to photo as she was to hear the news.

Every time I've pressed publish on my blog since May 22nd, a sadness has washed over me. My aunt read every single one of my blog posts. She would often send me emails after reading them. She wrote the best emails (and cards). She selected her words perfectly and always made me feel special.

A couple weeks before she died, my mom and I took the kids to see her. She got to meet Logan for the first and only time. Despite her weakened state, she smiled lots. Cancer sucks, as do its treatments. She had to have a chair installed so that she could get up the stairs. I want to remember that day from these two photos:

Auntie Wendy might have been exhausted, but she rode up and down those stairs over and over again, bringing huge smiles onto the faces of my little girls. 

Rest in peace, Auntie Wendy. I miss you terribly. RILY.