My aunt passed away this morning. She was a nun, living in New Jersey. She's been ill for a long time. She was a pure soul: kind, loving, and prayerful. She knew the truth about my dad's family, and she didn't mind saying so. Even though we only met a few times over the course of my life, she always prayed for me. They said she had some kind of mental retardation, but upon reflection I think she was the personification of Simplicity. She had a small room and few possessions, and she had love in her heart. This is what I will remember about Aunt Jean. So on Saturday I am going to New Jersey to bury another family member, but mainly to be with my father who needs my support. He will be facing siblings who don't really know or understand him. There are old hurts but even older silences. I will go to watch and learn and maybe cry a bit as I finally face the toothless New York skyline. This isn't how I wanted to go back, especially because David won't be with me, but Life and Death are on their own timetables.