Decades before we labeled parents "single mother" and "single father," when his beautiful wife, Hettie, died, Arthur Walker–or "Papa"–as we called him, was a single father to eight children. My mother was the next to youngest, and the youngest girl of her siblings. She was eight when her mother died. Those eight children all married eventually and all but one had children. And then those children had children and their children had children. The Walker clan is long on members. Saturday we lost our last remaining Aunt. Her name was Rhoda. She lost her sweet husband, Shields several years before.
Though Aunt Rhoda married into the Walker family, versus being born blood kin, all of my 51 years she assumed an iconic role. Our adopted Aunt Aileen ran neck-and-neck and my mother ran a close third. They were women always perfectly coiffed, crisp, starched and sprayed. Rhoda was particularly petite, polished, always gracious and forever smiling. Her precious spirit glowed like her charming good looks. All of us girl cousins yearned to grow old like Aunt Rhoda and Aileen.
Aunt Rhoda lived into her nineties. Word had made it through the famliy that these days might be her last. That was about two weeks ago. Early Saturday morning I answered an email from one of my favorite cousins regarding a different matter. As I hit "send," I thought about dear Aunt Rhoda. I pondered the fact that I'd not received news of her since I'd read in an email that she was weak, frail and not doing well. I wondered if she was better or if these truly were her last days. I replied to my cousin's email at about 6:00 eastern time and I heard from my sister mid morning that Aunt Rhoda has died one-and-a-half hours after I'd thought of her….
Upon the news of our aunt's passing, one of my many cousins recounted in an email that she, too, had always held a secret fantasy to grow old like dear Aunt Rhoda and recalled the time just a few years ago when Rhoda road a jet ski after the annual family reunion potluck feast at our cousins' lake home. Even in her nineties, Aunt Rhoda rode in style.
Mother died two years ago. And her husband, my Daddy, died in March. Rhoda's passed on now and besides our adopted Aunt Aileen–still strong and sweet in her nineties–only one blood sibling remains. His name is Ray. He makes divine lemonade for us during those annual lake-house gatherings. And, true to Walker heritage and then some, he talks like there's no tomorrow.
Yesterday has come and gone. We lost a special aunt. May we all treasure our todays and our tomorrows with our loved ones.
Photo: everystockphoto
