Greetings, squadlings.

On the 23rd of this month, it will be four months since Aunt Meg died. Tomorrow marks four months since the last time I saw her.

Not a month, week, day, hour goes by that I don’t think about her. They say time heals all wounds, but I’m just not so sure.

We were able to hold a private, family-only funeral for her in July. Due to COVID restrictions, only family and her very dearest friends were allowed to attend. No one but the priests could speak–no speeches, no eulogies to remember the incredible person she was.

She was buried on that scorchingly hot day in July in a cemetery not far from my house. The high temperature was around 91 degrees Fahrenheit, with peak heat index reaching around 101. However, during her burial, there was a thunderstorm. It was a cool, yet rainy, 71 degrees as we stood at her gravesite and said our final goodbyes. We let her rest. I go visit her usually once a week–I talk to her, update her on what’s going on (although there’s honestly not much to say), keep her headstone nice and cleaned up, and water the flowers we planted next to her.

Four months have passed since the last time I saw her. Time is supposed to heal all wounds, but honestly, it hasn’t done much.

I fell down the hole of constant listening to the Hamilton soundtrack. There are quite a few lines in the final song, Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story that make me think of Aunt Meg. One of them is “The lord in his kindness, he gives me what you always wanted, he gives me more time”. Another is “I ask myself, “what would you do if you had more time?”” The one that stands out the most, though, is this:

“Oh, I can’t wait to see you again. It’s only a matter of time.” 

Be well, squadlings.