Highly Favor-ed

I’ve always been told I favor my Aunt Patsy. I’ve heard it for years at family reunions and funerals. It’s a nice thing to hear. We have the same ash brown hair and eyes. We share the kind of face that evolves from sweet adolescent roundness to angled sharpness, maturity settling on us as an attractive map of honed edges. Our smiles are so tall that our cheeks briefly turn our eyeballs into thin horizontal slices. And when we flash these toothy grins at others, grins are always returned.

We both have a desire to show up in loved ones’ lives and make them better – whether that involvement is requested or not. We both love Jesus. And we both miss my dad.

Aunt Patsy showed up for me countless times in my life. Sometimes, her gifts were pretty and proper but merely aspirational for a grubby kid living in a trailer - a pearly lavender Bible, a custom ring from Pardon’s Jewelers for my sixteenth birthday, an electronic Brother typewriter. She even made chicken pox bearable with a delivery of teddy bears and balloons. These were the gifts I wanted.

Other times, her gifts were more practical – like the time she and Uncle Ken bought us a dryer so that we wouldn’t have to hang up our wet laundry in the closet anymore, or when she bought us back-to-school clothes and pretty blankets for my and Rebekah’s twin beds – which were also from her. These gifts, while decidedly needed, were harder to accept. There was no need for shame, though – in Aunt Patsy’s eyes, we, and everyone else in her family, deserved the best.

The evening after Daddy died, Aunt Patsy took 11-year-old me to her house to spend the night. She did so because she understood that I simply was not ready to set foot back inside our home. She did so because she loved my daddy and she loved me. I slept back-to-back with her that night, like I used to with my own mama, shattered by grief but protected by her devotion.

She never stopped showing up for me. She made it to both of my graduations and to my wedding in Georgia. Our bond grew stronger as I began to check in with her more regularly over the last few years. They say that you should make sure the people in your life know you love them, because you never know when you might lose the opportunity to tell them. I’m glad that Aunt Patsy knew exactly how much I loved her. We often reminisced on the phone about good times from the past. I thanked her often for the influence she had in my life.

“Well, I was happy to do it,” she’d say. “Call us if you need anything.”

After Aunt Patsy had been placed in hospice care, Ben and I were invited to come over. She wasn’t communicating much the day of our visit. Uncle Ken and I tried to rally her by singing the Cas Walker theme. I don’t recall what Aunt Patsy thought about old Cas, but I do know he wasn’t the only one who gave milk to needy children – so did she, along with dryers and back-to-school clothes and pretty blankets. He also wasn’t the only one who might threaten to whoop hell out of someone who needed it (like that time she took Rebekah’s band teacher to task – but that’s a story for another time).

I looked at Aunt Patsy. It was like time-traveling to the future and seeing what I might look like in 35 years. A hospital bed had replaced the one in which I had cradled next to her all those years ago. Ben and I prayed over her.

Afterwards, I spoke frankly. “Aunt Patsy, I think you’re going to get to see Tommy, my daddy, soon. And I’m going to miss you very much, but I’m so happy for you.” And I was. Loving people inevitably means letting them go, so they can continue their journeys without us. What a beautiful thing, to let go of a balloon and watch it soar, knowing that you helped weave the ribbons that used to be tied to your wrist.

I sobbed miserably on the way home, knowing that it was the last time I’d see her this side of Heaven.

But was it?

After all, don’t I favor her?

When I glance in the mirror, I hope I will always be able to see her – not only in my features but also in the way she helped shape me. Now and in the years that follow, I will not only count her beautiful eyes to my credit, but also her evident loyalty, her constant encouragement, and her enduring love. When I smile at her, she will smile back.