Growing up, I had two aunts on my mother’s side—Nancy and Carolyn. They were my mother’s sisters, but life worked out in a way that I spent much more time around Carolyn. Her son, my cousin Allen, was like a brother to me. I did see Nancy at family reunions and sometimes at Thanksgiving, but we never spent the kind of time together that builds a real closeness. She was always there, but I never really knew her.
Everything changed about two and a half years ago when my mama got sick and was dying of cancer. For the first time in my life, I found myself sitting in hospital rooms with Aunt Nancy. We began to talk—really talk—about things we had never shared before. After all those years of being apart, I found myself wondering why we had never been closer.
When Mama passed away, Nancy was there for me. She gave me the kind of support I didn’t even know I needed at the time, and it meant the world to me. In the two and a half years since, we’ve stayed connected. We’ve built a closeness I never expected, and honestly, it feels like we’ve been making up for lost time.
Now, though, life has dealt another hard blow. Nancy has cancer, and it’s not looking good. It makes me both sad and angry. Just when I finally got to know her—just when we became close—this happens.
But I’ve learned something through all of this: while I didn’t really know her for most of my life, she always knew me. Mama had shared so much of my life with her. Nancy carried pieces of me and my story long before I ever sat down with her and told them myself.
Lately, I’ve been going to her house—something I hadn’t done since I was a kid. Sitting in her living room now feels almost like stepping back in time. During those visits, we talk about my grandparents—her parents—the people we both loved more than anything. Her eyes light up as she tells me stories about when she was a little girl, stories about Grandma and Grandpa that I had never heard before.
And in those quiet moments, I’ve come to realize something that hurts and heals all at once. I may not get the years with Aunt Nancy that I wish I had, but God has given me these days, these visits, and these stories. She has filled in parts of my family’s past I never knew, and in doing so, she has given me one last gift: the reminder that love doesn’t end when someone leaves this world. It lives on in the stories passed down, in the memories we hold tight, and in the hearts of those who will never forget.
So Aunt Nancy, if you ever wonder what you mean to me, know this—I will always carry you with me. In Mama’s memory, in Grandma and Grandpa’s love, and in the stories you’ve shared that now live inside me. You’ve given me more than I ever expected, and I’ll spend the rest of my life being grateful that, in the end, we finally found each other.