Remembering Aunt Norma

This past Tuesday evening, June 29th, my maternal Aunt Norma died in a hospital at the age of eighty nine. She was surrounded by family, including her loving and devoted husband Sonny, her three children, her sister (my mother), two daughters-in-law, my wife Julie and two nephews (including me). As the day began, we all knew that the end was near. Aunt Norma’s health had been declining for sometime. Julie and I were fortunate to visit her a couple of weeks before her passing and had a very touching visit where we were able to converse with her and comfort her.

Tuesday evening was different. As we entered the room, Aunt Norma’s pulse rate and breathing were slower. She had a fever and was heavily medicated. As the afternoon went on, her breathing slowed more and more. We were all able to touch her and speak loving words to her before she passed away. Afterward, there was comfort given to the immediate family, especially Uncle Sonny. A few of us prayed. Eventually everyone left. When Julie and I went to my car, we discussed the realization that neither of us had seen a person die in front of us. Given our spiritual practices and beliefs, we knew that we had experienced something truly special; Aunt Norma’s soul left her body and went to heaven. It was a sad but truly profound moment that we both experienced.

I am once again reminded how precious life is. We are all born as babies and if we’re fortunate enough, live to a good old age. Aunt Norma was a dear aunt to me, and loved by many others. Whenever I was with her, Aunt Norma was smiling, laughing, or saying something humorous. She was a devout Catholic and had a wonderful marriage to Uncle Sonny. They knew each other for about seventy years. In the days ahead, he will need some support. We will pray for him and visit when we can.

When my father Angelo died after having a prolonged illness in October of 2017, a very kind colleague gave me a booklet called “Gone from my Sight: The Dying Experience” written by Barbara Karnes, RN. My colleague found it comforting in a time of grief when her brother died unexpectedly and she thought to share it with me. The booklet was comforting, and one poem within it helped me make more sense of my father’s passing and where he was headed. I reviewed it again after Aunt Norma passed away. Here it is below;

I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails
to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until at length
she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky
come to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says:
“There, she is gone!”
“Gone where?”
Gone from my sight. That is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar
as she was when she left my side
and she is just as able to bear the load
of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.
And just at the moment when someone at my side says:
“There, she is gone!”
There are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout:
“Here she comes!”
And that is dying…

—Henry Van Dyke

Rest in peace my dear Aunt Norma. Please give my dad a hug for me.