106

One hundred and six. As in years of age. My Aunt Dolly was 106 (and a half) on the last day of her life, which came to her last week. Peacefully........ my aunt died in her sleep, taking a nap after saying that she felt so tired.

Sound of mind and of body, all the years of her life, until just a couple of weeks before she died. Aunt Dolly did not drink or smoke. She ate all kinds of foods, but only very small portions. She would not, however, eat anything that was 'lite' or 'diet' or 'flavored.' Aunt Dolly did not trust foods that were not "real."  She was always very petite... the clothes she wore when she was 32 probably still fit her when she was 102. She did not visit a doctor on a regular basis, and did not take medications. She broke her wrist when she fell on the ice about 30 years ago, and was thoroughly insulted that the attending physician wanted to give her a prescription for pain-killers. "For what? A broken bone? Don't be such a baby!" -- That's about what she told him.

You could walk into my Aunt Dolly's house on any given day, at any time, and she would be ready for company. She made it look easy... taking care of a three-story house with a full basement and two kitchens... everything immaculate. That house was built by my grandfather and she respected and loved it, telling anyone and everyone that "Houses aren't built like this anymore."  Sadly, she had to leave that home ten years ago when the surrounding neighborhood got to be too rough and too disrespectful for the rest of the family to believe that she would be safe living there by herself. One of my cousins moved her to Florida... she liked the warm weather ("I don't miss all that snow!"), hated all the air-conditioning ("It isn't natural."), and couldn't understand how Floridians survived ("They don't have good Italian bakeries down here!").

She was everything to every one of us who called her Aunt Dolly.... our best friend, our muse, our secret-keeper, our craft-maker, our second mother, our confidant, our shadow, our conscience, our advocate.  She took us shopping for school clothes, she taught us to play Gin Rummy, she let us stay up past midnight to watch old black-and-white movies produced "when Hollywood was filled with bright stars, not tiny sparks", she asked us to read aloud to her while she was ironing, she made us watch as she cooked and baked so we would appreciate what it took to get a good meal on the table. She never let us forget where we came from... "You're a LaConte... you are a part of this family and always will be... don't ever forget that."  And for those who did sometimes forget the family, Aunt Dolly was the first to welcome and to forgive when we came back to the family table, no questions asked. But she would give you that look, that said "Now don't do that again."

A few days after her passing, I was on the phone with one of my cousins who was asking me about birth and death dates of other family members. I immediately started to say "Ask Aunt Dolly... she'll know."  And I caught myself just in time. We can't ask Aunt Dolly anything anymore. Over the phone line, both my cousin and I were quiet.... and I knew we were both thinking the same thing. She and I would always ask Aunt Dolly for whatever it was that the rest of us had forgotten. And with the passing of Aunt Dolly, our generation of cousins were now 'the old guard.' Wasn't it just yesterday that we were all sitting at the kids' table in Aunt Dolly's kitchen?

Aunt Dolly will be with us forever... for as long as we can keep her memories and her passions alive, she will be with us still. For as long as we remember her telling us that Grandpa and Grandma came to this country with nothing, that they worked and sacrificed so they could build a home and a life for their family... that family was everything, that money only gave you more choices, but didn't make you rich. "Family makes you rich," we were told again and again.

Right this minute, writing and thinking about Aunt Dolly, I feel as if I'm the richest person on this planet.

I don't know what happens to us when we die. But I would like to believe that family members who have passed on will be waiting 'on the other side' for us when we get there. My hope is that when Aunt Dolly got to that other side this week, she was greeted by Grandpa and Grandma, her sisters (Angela, Jaye, Edie), her brothers (Mino, Tony, Jimmy, Larry, my dad Angelino)... and they said to her "Well, it's about time you got here! Did you bring the cannoli?!"