My Aunt Sheila was a really lovely southern girl. She could talk your ear off, apply her makeup while driving, and network like no one you've ever seen. All three at once, sometimes. I met her when I was six. She was so pretty and fun. She would give me money for scratching her head while we watched movies. I was one of the flower girls when she married my Uncle Tim. The dresses she picked for us were black velvet and black satin. Odd, but striking and certainly dramatic, like her. I remember that she took me to her work while we were in town for the wedding so all the ladies could giggle at my funny (to them) Californian accent. I loved spending time with her; she had an ability to make anyone feel like family. And she was constantly, unfailingly, and sometimes terribly late. To everythng. But she always had the very best intentions, better than anyone else's. She raised two amazing sons and gave everyone everything she could and was an altogether beautiful woman.
The last few years had been hard and strange ones for her and her family. Some of it was related to a tough battle with breast cancer, but some of it wasn't and had already been going on for a while and I don't know what it was that changed her. The last I had heard from my dad, who visited them recently, was that she was sleeping weird hours, neglecting her sons, and had become addicted to pain meds. In fact, I was talking to my mom about it last night, and we were discussing how utterly different she had become from the busy, unstoppable, attentive person we used to know.
Today, my dad called me to say that Sheila had a heart attack this morning and wasn't able to be revived. Her sons are 13 and 16. She is survived by my uncle, who has the patience and the heart of a saint, and her parents, who are also incredibly warm and giving people. It's a sad, sad thing. She is going to be so very missed.
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