My Aunt Jean made her appointment with eternity last night and slid into infinity quietly and peacefully with family at her side. Her breathing problems are now a thing of the past and she is no longer tethered to an oxygen tank or a motorized cart. That is good.
The first time I ever touched a Ouija board was with my Aunt Jean. It was 1980 and she and I had a glass of white wine at her Mobley Street kitchen table, while we "talked" to her father in law aka my Grandpa Haskell. He kept writing out "Love the boys, love the boys, love the boys" with the pointer. He was concerned for her four sons who she was raising single handedly. It was my first hands on exposure to other worldliness...and it was fascinating.
Over the years, my aunt proved to be a great conduit for all things metaphysical. Like the time she was hypnotized and recorded a past life regression in Los Angeles. I vaguely remember hearing the tape the gist of which was that she had previously lived during the late 1800's as Rosa Calderone- a spoiled beauty and daughter of a wealthy Mexican rancher. She recalled the day she watched her brothers, father and lover Fernando ride off into the sunset on horseback to fight. She recounted her anger at having her life disrupted by war and losing the love of her life in battle. She said that she had died of pneumonia in her mid twenties.
Last January, I had the chance to spend the better part of a day catching up with Aunt Jean in San Diego. We talked about life, death and the afterlife. I shared a vivid out of body experience I'd had and offered it up as my rationale for no longer fearing that we're snuffed out at death. Instead I'm sure that our consciousness doesn't require a physical form to maintain our identity. While she said that she'd not dabbled with astral projection, she was nevertheless quite sure that our soul continues on and said that she wasn't afraid to die. She admitted that she was ready to go and were it not for the fact that she thought it would be hard on her children to lose their mother she'd have no angst about leaving.
My father used to retell the story of driving to Cottage Hill the morning Jean, loading her VW with possessions and kids, was preparing to hit the road and head west. Where she was going to land she wasn't sure but she knew that she wanted to live in a sunny warm climate. My father said he cried as he watched her drive off. His thoughts were fear mixed with exhilaration. He admired her spunk and I believe half envied the explorer she was daring to be.
My Aunt Jean.
I loved her and I will miss her. San Diego won't be the same without her anymore than Lake George is the same without Jack or John. Death does suck for those of us left standing here. It's a crappy system to grow to love people just to have them ripped away. Who is responsible for this design flaw?
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