So long, Aunt Pat

I’m saddened to write that my aunt, Lorraine Patricia Connelly – “Aunt Pat,” died Sunday morning, Jan. 17, 2010, in Hoffman Estates, Ill., at the age of 86. Aunt Pat  was the last living member of my dad’s family, having been preceeded in death by three brothers (most recently my dad, in 2004) and two sisters.

Pat was a wonderful, thoughtful, caring and absolutely fun person to the very end. I remember Pat used to threaten to give me one, “Pow! Right in the kisser!” But of course she never did.

I think she and her sister Mary Fran (who lived to be 93) sqeezed about as much out of life as anyone I’ve known. Well into their 80s, Pat and Mary Fran would pack up the car and drive off on a cross-country trip when the urge struck them.

They weren’t keen on flying, so they always drove or took Amtrak. It was exciting as a kid to go to the train station in Auburn, Wash., to pick up the aunts when they came from Chicago to visit. They always came bearing gifts – trinkets for us kids, and cases of booze for Mom and Dad, because Illinois had lower taxes on libations than did Washington state.

None of the three sisters ever married, so they were always the Aunts, or “MaryFran-n-Kay-n-Pat,” or when we nieces and nephews grew more sophisticated, “MFK&P.” I was the caboose among six siblings (still am, for that matter), and my grandmothers and grandfathers on both sides were gone before I happened along. MFK&P stepped right into the role, showing up at weddings and big family events that warranted the presence of extended family. I never once felt deprived by not having grandparents.

I visited Pat in the hospital Saturday afternoon and said goodbye, but she was unconscious, struggling for breath and unaware of anyone in the room. I feel terrible to my core that I didn’t visit before Pay lay on her deathbed, that I didn’t make her a bigger part of my life. She was just five hours away from me in Chicago, and for nearly four years I “meant to” drive down and pay her a visit but I kept putting it off. Next month, maybe. Definitely over the summer. But I didn’t actually point the car south until the worst circumstances compelled me, until Pat had less than 24 hours left.

I’m not going to beat myself up about it, because I know Pat wouldn’t want that. She would say she understands; she would even help make excuses for me – she’d talk about the fact that I have kids to care for, responsibilities as a home owner, other priorities, etc. She’d even talk about how long a drive it is – five whole hours! She’d say all that because understanding and kindness were what she was made of. The problem is, I know it’s all baloney. I should have dragged myself down there. All I can do at this point is say I’m sorry and forgive myself. I don’t feel good about it, but that’s all there is.

But I’m also going to commit to learning this lesson, finally: Never put off until tomorrow, or next week, or next month telling people you value just how much you care about them. Life’s too short. Eventually we run out of tomorrows, next weeks, next months, and maybe-next-years. Don’t get caught banking on an endless supply like I did this time.

Goodbye, Aunt Pat. It was a pleasure, an honor and a privilege to be your nephew.

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