My aunt Gloria passed away this past Saturday from pancreatic cancer. Her long battle lasted four times the median survival rate, and took her into her octogenarian years.
Gloria was my grandmother's brother's wife. She's the reason this post is written in English. The related families share a bond that I'll never be able to rightly comprehend; there just isn't a way for me to fully appreciate its profundity. Together through World War II in Europe. Raising one extended family over 50 years on 3 continents, watching the country they were born in crumble and reconstruct. Having lived half a block away from each other for at least 20 years in America, when it came time to buy a home in the old country, they purchased apartments in the same building.
I'll only ever remember her by her older self; I'll never know the person who took part in the initial construction of this rich historical tapestry. Despite the short distance between our families, my childhood was spent completely saturated by family members who lived even closer, in the same plot of land, with another aunt & uncle and my godfather occupying apartments in my grandparent's next door 3 family home.
What I do remember is unfortunately obscured by the fog of time and by my weakness with Portuguese; only the overwhelmingly strong images make it through: large glasses, always smiling, and a quirky sense of humor. Her willingness to turn a face brought levity to stern situations and in an odd way gave me an anchor to reality from the alien world of these family functions I was never able to navigate properly.
The major one that our families all shared was Thanksgiving, which notably was always done at her house at the top of the hill I lived on. Along with Turkey and Paella and about four million tons of other food, there were, strewn about the house, glass bowls filled with peanut M&Ms. I never knew if she was responsible for them, but she was in tune with the acoustic signature of tiny hands rustling through that bowl, and always gave a comical look of exaggerated shock followed by a knowing smile that she wasn't going to tell anyone we were having too many.
These might seem like small memories, but they're burned in; they're things I won't ever shake. She was a sweet lady and her presence will be sorely, sorely missed.
public domain
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