We were at our favorite lake. My family all crowded at the beach so the ceremony could begin. It wasn’t a cheerful ceremony, as one would think, but a solemn one. We had come to that particular lake to spread my aunt’s ashes. How did this happen? It all started a few years ago. 

It was springtime and I was laying on our gray couch, doing nothing as school was almost over and I had no homework. It was quite breezy but I didn’t mind one bit. I was in a great mood, almost unwavering, I figured nothing could go wrong on this beautiful day. Until my mom got a call from her brother, my uncle.  I remember watching her face go from cheerful, to thunderstruck, to finally heartbroken. She looked like someone had hit her with a truck. Big, wet tears were rolling down her face. She slowly hung up the phone and told me what had happened. That day at work, my aunt was acting very scatterbrained and unusual. Since she worked at a hospital, they ran a couple of tests and determined it was brain cancer. When my mom told me, I remember feeling very confused, and regretfully, almost un-caring. The shock of the situation hadn’t hit me. I had never dealt with this kind of situation before. It didn’t occur to me that she probably wouldn’t be alive for much longer. 

Soon it was summer and my aunt’s treatment was in full swing. I remember one day getting to go to a chemotherapy treatment with her. The loud, beeping machines and the sickly looks on the patient's faces chipped away at my belief that she was going to be ok and it made me feel uneasy, but I couldn’t imagine what my aunt was feeling. By then, I was starting to understand the situation a bit better but still didn’t fully grasp the concept that one of my family members had cancer. I saw her a lot that summer, spending time with her on many different occasions. I didn't realize how much the cancer was eating at her until one day in late summer. It was a hot day and we arrived at the mall to do some shopping. At this point, my aunt needed a wheelchair to get around. I recall her struggling to get out of the car and into the chair because she was so weak. 

The realization that she probably wouldn’t recover hit me like a wrecking ball. It wasn’t until fall that reality really started to sink in. Every day my mom would go to Rochester to take care of her for the day and my sister would have to take care of me until she got back. Her chores included driving back and forth to school, cleaning the house, taking out the trash, and even cooking dinner. That autumn had a lot of pre-made meals. I didn’t want to go to school at that point, all that seemed to matter was my aunt. 

I don’t specifically remember what the last thing my aunt said to me was. But, I do remember that she was encouraging me to join the speech team. That stuck with me and I’ve been in it ever since. I’m glad the last thing she told me was the best advice she's ever given. I do specifically recall though, how I found out she had passed. I was sitting at lunch arguing with my friend about something as trivial as her eye color. I saw my dad walk over, looking very gloomy. At the time, I wasn’t paying much attention to his expression and asked him why he was there. I didn’t know that my already decaying wall of beliefs was about to be smashed. He guided me to an empty hallway and told me what happened. 

I was absolutely shocked. My emotions had finally collapsed into a messy heap. Even though I knew she wouldn’t recover, I hadn’t expected it to happen so fast. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. My dad signed me out of school and drove me to their house. That car ride was the most silent ride I’ve ever been in. The funeral for her was pretty, but depressing, as funerals usually are. My aunt’s favorite hobby was knitting, so naturally, they had lots of knitting-themed items at the service. 

We had a very beautiful ceremony that day. The sky was clear and we were ready to say our goodbyes. My uncle made a small speech dedicated to her and spread the ashes into the clear blue lake. The somberness in the air was very apparent but not spoken. Afterward we all combed the beach to search for agate as my aunt and uncle had done so long ago. The fragility of my aunt’s life made me realize how people can get sick and pass so quickly, especially your family. They can crumble at any moment.