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| Aunt Yo, King and me, summer 1970 |
Some of my happiest memories are of the times I spent with my favorite aunt, Yolanda, at her home in Vermont. And although my trips became less frequent as I grew older, we never, ever lost touch. For a long time, we wrote each other weekly. It was she who encouraged me to write professionally; she'd say "reading your letters is like the next installment of a soap opera!"
Then, when telephone companies created unlimited calling (thus, less expensive 'long-distance' calls) we talked all the time. I'd often send her little surprises ~ copies of 'Back in the Bronx' magazine (which she loved) a card, something I'd made for her birthday or Christmas or for no reason at all, other than to tell her that I loved her.
Aunt Yo lost her first husband to the horrors of World War II. Rocky Naclerio died 1943, in the 'Battle of the Bulge' leaving my aunt with a baby son, and a broken heart. She faced many more heartaches in the years to come, but never lost her courageous spirit and positive outlook.
In the 1950s, she remarried, this time to my mother's brother, and I was so happy to have such a pretty and nice new "aunt" in our family. Around 1959-60, they found a beautiful old house, circa 1825, in Vermont and soon moved there for good. My first visit, with my parents during the summer of 1960, wound up being my first extended vacation away from home. I loved it so much, I didn't want to leave, and so my parents left me with Aunt Yo, Uncle Rico and my cousins Tommy and Vicki and returned weeks later to pick me up.
Last night, I received a call from my cousin Victoria. She did not want me to be shocked 'after the fact' and explained that her mother had requested that no one be told of her terminal illness, and her children respected her wishes. I was shaken to the core. Never once, in the two years since her diagnosis, did she ever let on that anything was wrong. Our conversations were as they always were ~ fun, lighthearted, nostalgic shared memories of the way things used to be...and when it was time to say goodbye, she always said "Love you!" to which I replied, "Love you more!"
At this writing, my wonderful favorite Aunt Yolanda has days, perhaps hours, left before she leaves this world behind. She would have been 91 years old this August, so she had a long life, if filled with an awful lot of pain. But goodbyes have never been easy for me. My mother would sometimes yell at me, "Death is a part of life, Paula, get used to it!" when I couldn't stop crying over the loss of a loved one.
Yes, death is a part of life, but until we are all together again, the heart can ache terribly after each and every goodbye.
Until we meet again, Aunt Yolanda, I will miss you every single day, and always 'love you more.'
