A Warning would have been nice, Raven

Got a text from Maternal Unit: "How is your friend? Hugs to you and the kids. Aunt Connie died this morning. Love you all."

Yes, this is my Maternal Unit. *SIGH*

I called her, after texting her "You couldn't CALL me?" (Her excuse was that the news made her ill all day)

Aunt Connie was a little spitfire. Literally, she didn't hit five feet and the last time I saw her, six years ago when Aunt Maureen died, I had to literally bend in half to reach her head. She patted my head and called me a Little Spider. Also figuratively. This was a woman who had a solid spiritual base. Yes, she was Catholic, but she would cross herself when driving by a Protestant church and say "God lives there too." Her husband was twice as tall and she had...four kids, I think. She was sister to my grandmother, so we were second cousins to her family. I spent a lovely summer two weeks there when I was twelve-ish and got the really pretty bedroom that was three walls of windows.

I loved her and respected her. She wanted her body donated to science, so there's no funeral for me to try and rush out to Kansas City for. I found a candle to burn for her, light her way. Apparently she liked green, because out of the four candles I doused, that was the one that responded. Maternal unit does not appreciate hearing such things.

Safe Travels, Aunt Connie. Knowing you, you're hanging with your husband and asking All The Questions.