Trent's Aunt Bert died. She was named after her father. She's been old and falling apart and needing assistance as long as I've known her. Blind, half-deaf and somewhat eccentric (is that the nice word for crazy?), she's been one of those colorful relatives I think everyone should have one of. Or two. But not more than that.
She moved to our area just before Trent and I married, away from the East Coast where she'd lived the past 50 years. No one I talked to seemed to know why she and her husband would move so far away from their children and friends. It just meant that Trent's folks spent a lot of time caring for them. And Trent got calls to help unclog toilets and the like. It's OK - we all are in a bind sometimes, and it's always a good thing to help. A few of Aunt Bert's children ended up here as well, and they all had their hands full in the helping.
We just went to the funeral, and it was lovely. There was hardly a mention of her oddities, or of how much was required to care for her. Instead, we heard heartfelt appreciations for a dearly loved mother. She was a beauty pageant runner-up in her youth, dedicated to her family, a help to those in need, and devout in her faith. There are many who were lifted and loved by Aunt Bert. Besides, they said, who wouldn't be a little batty when you have eight children to care for?
Wait a minute... She did have eight children. Seven of them were boys, including a set of twins. Only one girl.
Oh man. I'm in for it.