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My great aunt died just after midnight on New Year's.

The youth worker at my friends' church suggessted that I write a letter to her to help deal with the grief and mourning and whatever, so I did.

My other aunt asked me if I'd read it at the funeral. I'm still considering. I'd like to, I suppose, I just don't know if I could.

I wanted to post it somewhere, and I decided on here. Why, I don't know.

Anyway, here it is:

Dear Aunt Edie,

Well…I guess this is goodbye. I hate to think that I never really got a chance to say a proper goodbye to you. I never even got a chance to visit you since you got sick. But I guess that's really all it is – missed opportunities. It's a shame, really, but I just kept thinking, "There will be other times that I can visit." Apparently not. Well, that's life. Or death, I should say.

I think I'll always remember you as I knew you those summers at Harris Lake; where you locked all your doors, even when you were home, and where you never had any windows open, even if it was stifling. Of course, the fact that it seemed like you were always baking couldn't have helped with the heat of that little cabin of yours. But really, every time we were there, it seems like you had just pulled something out of the oven, or was just about to. And everything you made was delicious. I recall you often sending me and my sisters over to the marina with a batch of fresh cookies or brownies or cupcakes, or something. You also liked to send us over to the marina with a toonie or a five dollar bill each, ignoring the fact that Mom was telling you how we really didn't need it. Sometimes I wish I'd saved those toonies and fives, thinking you might have liked that, but looking back now, I know that you gave them to us knowing we'd spend them right way anyway.

More than anything, right now I want to tell you about this dream I had about a week ago. A couple of friends and I were up at Harris Lake. We'd just arrived and we were supposed to be going over to Uncle Doug's cabin, but it was late and we didn't want to have to cross The Narrows in the dark. So I pulled out a set of keys and said, "That's okay, we can stay here at my cabin," indicating to your cottage. "I thought this was your aunt’s," one of my friends said. "It was," I replied, "But she died a while ago, so it belongs to my family now…"

I woke up scared out of my mind, and I'm even more scared now that you're actually gone. The worst part is – and I feel absolutely terrible about this – when Mom told me that you'd died, the fist thing – after the initial shock, that is – that passed through my mind was, "What about the cottage?" And right away I mentally kicked myself for it. How can I think that way? I hate to admit it, but it's true. I really wish it had been a different thought; a better, less selfish one. But the fact of the matter is, it wasn't.

I'd like to think that I learned more from you than I originally thought I had. I mean, just from knowing you, I've learned a few things that I'm sure you never meant to teach me or hadn't specifically set out to, but looking back I can honestly say I've learned things from you. Even from my first thought after hearing of your passing on, I've learned something. You know what it is; I won't say.

Anyway, I guess what I really want to say is I miss you. I wish I knew you better. I guess in terms of people knowing their great aunts, I did know you pretty well, but I wish I knew you better all the same. The only time I ever really knew you was at the cottage and those visits – more recently anyway – were fleeting. We were passing through on our way to Uncle Doug's cottage, or on our way to French River, or home again and just stopped in to say hello or goodbye or something like that.

I feel like all those chances to get to know you better slipped through my fingers – just like those opportunities to visit you when you were sick, those lessons you taught me without me even knowing, or those toonies and fives you gave to my sisters and I at the cottage. They say you never know what you have until it's gone, and right now that couldn't be any truer, because right now I'm realizing that you were really a bigger part of my life than I thought.

I will always remember you as my Great Aunt Edie, because, really, that's what you were: Great.

Love always.

Rest in Peace <3

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.

Condolences to you and your family, Rika.

Its a good quote and it's nice to see you back again.