Always an Aunt

Aunt Dora and I in 2008

When something, like a meatball or the phrase, "so long!," reminds me of Aunt Dora, I tell my son about his Zia Dora. I tell him how she was anxious for me to get pregnant (long before I was ready) and how she would put her arms out as if rocking a baby to show how she'd care for him, even if she'd have to sit while she held him.

I want my son to know Aunt Dora. Of course, he's too young to remember (or perhaps understand any of) what I say, but why wait until he's too old to be interested? This habit will stay with us.

Even though she passed in 2011 on April 1st, she is very present in my life. Two years ago, I shared this found epistolary poem that I wrote for her. She also appears in some newer poems in my current manuscript.

Anyone who knew her remembers that she was feisty. Sure, she'd say beautiful things like, "I'll always love you," but she'd also comment on the size of my "bottom" after asking me to spin around so she could get a better look. Like a character in a novel (or memoir?) all of these aspects of her add up to who she was.

Aunt Dora would describe how she sat with her knees against my grandfather's and help teach me how to walk when I was a baby; she said she'd do that for my child with my mother. She was ready to be my child's great-great aunt.

And she is, through memories and words.