Remembering Aunt Nancy

It seems that almost everyone I knew called her “Aunt Nancy.”

Nancy Amerman was, indeed, my aunt. But she seemed like everyone’s aunt, if you ask me.

Aunt Nancy died last week at the age of 85, beset by a quick illness that turned into something she was not going to survive.

She was the “younger” sister of my mother, who turned 89 last December. There are three others who are younger than Nancy.

I talk to my mom on a regular basis, generally a couple of times a week. She had been telling me for the past month or so about how Aunt Nancy was really sick and was just having a hard time.

I could relate because I had this flu that is going around and it knocked me back in my tracks. It seemed Nancy had something similar. But then things turned for the worse a couple of weeks ago.

She went to the doctor who immediately had her go to the emergency room and from there she was admitted to the hospital. It didn’t take long for doctors to determine her illness was much more and there was nothing that could be done.

They admitted her to hospice and in just a couple of days, she was gone.

Although it has been a long time since I had seen Aunt Nancy, that doesn’t lessen the impact. She has been my Aunt Nancy since I was born and she will always be that in my mind.

Aunt Nancy was quite the interesting character. When I was growing up, we went to Aunt Nancy and Uncle Bob’s house all of the time. They came to our house, as well.

Whether it was playing cards or playing music or just hanging out, I have fond memories of those days so long ago. Cousins Ami and Bobbi were there; the two children they raised who are a little younger than me, but not much.

When I found out about Aunt Nancy, I immediately sent a text message to Ami, who was so close with her mother. I knew she was in the hospital with her but she responded right away and thanked me for thinking of them and their family as well as sending love.

The night before Aunt Nancy died, I had a conversation with my mom who told me the outlook was grim. I knew it was not good and I think my reaction showed it because I could not fall asleep and tossed and turned for two hours. I could also feel my heart racing on occasion.

Of course, knowing what I did, my mind knew what the outcome was going to be, as we all do. None of us are going to get out of this alive.

Yet that’s little consolation when it actually happens. No matter how prepared or unprepared you are, the outcome is the same. And it hurts.

I have fond memories of Aunt Nancy. She was always giving me a hard time because I was such a smart ass. I guess that is probably still the case today if you ask those who know me best.

Aunt Nancy had a wonderful career working for Eli Lilly and did quite well for herself. She worked hard for everything in life and was a loyal employee and, considering her occupation, made things better for other people in the world.

Her and Uncle Bob ended up buying a home in the metropolis of Mecca, Ind., and it was a nice place. Visible from the highway with that steep hill in the front yard.

In life, sometimes you don’t do as well as you should in keeping in contact with people. I’m as guilty as the next person. Yes, we are all busy and there is a reason that some priorities take precedent over others.

Again, it does not lessen what has happened. Our family lost a precious member last week and it’s difficult.

My mom lost a sibling. Bob lost his wife. Ami lost her mother. I lost my aunt. There’s no way to sugarcoat what has happened.

So what do you do?

In my case, I take to the keyboard. Through all of the hard losses in my life, including my father, my brother, my friends Ron and Chief, and others, I have taken to the keyboard. Writing is therapy for me.

So when I got the call last week early on a Tuesday morning, I knew what was going to be said. My mom told me what I already knew and that was that. It’s still difficult. As I write this, I just don’t feel right. It’s one of those feelings you know about and you just have to plow through it and continue forward.

All of that is easy to say; it’s much harder to do.

Yet we all do it.

My mind keeps going back to Ami. Little cousin Ami with her red hair and attitude. She, too, has done well in life, following in Aunt Nancy’s footsteps with Eli Lilly. Making a difference for all of us.

And then there’s Uncle Bob. I can’t imagine what he’s going through. If there’s one thing you can say about Uncle Bob it’s that he has a certain routine and schedule. Always has. I admire that about him but I’m sure now that routine is being adjusted.

But Uncle Bob is going to be just fine; he has always found a way of keeping occupied, from puzzles to fish to feeding the birds and doing yard work. I still have a train picture he framed and gave to Price so many years ago.

It’s so hard being so far away from the people you have known since birth. Living in California has its perks and drawbacks.

The family, per the wishes of the also stubborn Aunt Nancy, is not planning a service. Her and Bob had made that decision a long time ago. In many ways, I understand. What’s the point? We can all remember her in our different ways, like I do with a keyboard.

Life is a fickle thing. You go about your business, deal with problems and successes, and then it’s done. That may seem harsh, but reality is not always a fun thing. In fact, reality can be a quite difficult thing to navigate, but you still have to find a way.

They say time heals all wounds, and to an extent that is true. But it’s also false in the sense that you never do forget. It’s been 24 years since my dad died and I think about him often. Four since my brother died, and the same is true.

Yes, you move forward and do the best you can with the life you have. Yes, the hurt does lessen as time moves forward.

But healing is a matter of perspective. You celebrate accomplishments and milestones but you also reflect back on how those came about. In all cases, it’s where you came from.

That’s why I think this is difficult. I came from the family of Aunt Nancy. I grew up being around her and her family — which is my family — for many years before, like all of us, I left the nest.

It does not lessen her contributions to this world and how her family continues to live. In fact, those are enhanced.

I will miss you, Aunt Nancy.

Greg Little is editor of the Mariposa Gazette and can be reached at greg@mariposagazette.com