She was the last of a great generation.
I lost my Aunt Marie this week. She was 90 years old, and the last of my surviving aunts and uncles.
Aunt Marie was married to my mother’s brother, Uncle Frank.
In a small town far from their roots in Philadelphia, my mother, her brother and sister formed a tight clan in Oxford, Pa. They did almost everything together.
That tradition extended to their children. When I was growing up, my closes friend was my cousin Tim. Aunt Marie was his mom. I spent a lot of time in that house.
When I think of my Aunt Marie, I will always think of one thing: Food. She was a strong-willed Italian woman who lived in a family of tough Irish folks. She could more than hold her own.
Today I often think back to my childhood and amazed at what that generation accomplished, the trials and tribulations they faced, never blinking an eye in the process.
My Uncle Frank served in the Pacific in World War II. He literally was completely out of touch for months. Aunt Marie, as so many women were at that time, were left to fend for themselves on the home front, taking care of the kids, and a house, and somehow getting by.
They lived through the Great Depression, so I guess a World War was a piece of cake.
I will always remember my mother’s stories of the life she and her brothers and sisters experienced in the Depression. Today we have no clue what that kind of life meant.
It likely hardened them, forged an indomitable spirit, and a ability to enjoy the moment.
And believe me, could they ever enjoy the moment.
Their parties were legendary. I don’t think that small town where I grew up was quite prepared for what had hit them, especially when extended family and friends got together.
And the thing I remember most is their ability to get up the next day and go about their business as if they had just slept for 12 hours, when in reality their heads had likely hit the pillow just a few hours before.
My brothers and I secretly loved the few times when our parents would sneak off for a quick vacation. It almost inevitably meant staying with our cousins, and being treated to Aunt Marie’s cooking.
This is the kind of woman my Aunt Marie was. Their house, down the street from ours, was not far from the railroad tracks that ran through town. The tracks inevitably would attracts some folks down on their luck who arrived on the rails. She would feed them. When a snowstorm trapped travelers who were forced to camp in the Boy Scout Cabin next to their home, she fed them as well.
She certainly fed us.
They all did.
But they did more than that. They showed us a life well-lived, and put out a path for their children – and hopefully our children – to follow.
Now they are all gone, likely reunited in another place.
Heaven hasn’t seen this kind of party in a long time.
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