Monday, 21 April 2008
My Aunt Linda passed away when I was eighteen years old. She was really like a big sister to me.
Linda
I’m having flashbacks. They are coming in at different phases of her life, fragmented thoughts.
I miss your deep red hair and chocolate brown eyes. I miss the way you lit up a room with your vivacious personality. You always made us laugh.
The doctors said you wouldn’t live past the age of ten. You proved them wrong time and again. You were full of life, even if your body kept reminding you that you didn’t have long. You defied it, and kept on living.
A new operation gave you a second chance at life. The family debated about you doing this. You only had a 50/50 chance for survival. What did you have to lose, really? Your heart was getting weaker by the day. I was nine years old. Mom called to tell me they wheeled you in the operating room. I said my prayers, and held my breath. I adore you, you know that. I couldn’t bear losing you. You came home almost perfect; you finally had some normalcy. No more piggy back rides up the stairs by my dad or your brothers. Your fingernails and toenails weren’t a bluish color anymore.
My mom had a friend that had a daughter maybe three or four years younger than you. The two of you were introduced. You got to do the things you always wished you could have done as a teen. She took you under her wing and the two of you did things teens do, even though you were past your teen years.
You also decided to get a job, even if it was at Mickey D’s, wearing those silly uniforms.
I heard all about this tall, dark, handsome manager. He was fresh out of college and he trained you. He fell head over heels for you too. I can’t blame him; you were a gorgeous thing.
You told yourself this day in and day out. When I slept over grandma’s house, we shared a room. You had me giggling for hours. We made prank calls to people. You taught me card games and the importance to love one self. Unfortunately, the last one didn’t kick in until I reached my late forties. Well, you know the saying, better late than never. I still smile thinking about you walking up to the mirror every morning. You would pick up your brush, start brushing your long, Auburn hair, stop.... stare at your reflection, and say,
"Linda, you’re gorgeous!"
You leaned into the mirror, kissed your reflection, which sent me into hysterics.
I can’t tell you how much I wish you were here at this moment.
I would give anything to sit down like we use to do so often.
It would be different, better, because we would have a woman to woman pow-wow.
You are always in my heart.
I love you madly. And, I know…someday…
My aunt was born with severe heart defects. She was able to live a somewhat normal life after the operation. She even married the man I mentioned above. She came down with the flu a few short years after she married,was prescribed the wrong medication by a new doctor. I don’t remember all the details. She had major complications. She ended up in emergency and was scheduled to be operated on immediately. Our family rushed to her. I can still see her pacing the room. I was so frightened for her. Looking back, I see she knew she would not make it. I told her I loved her. This was the last time I saw her alive. She lost her life when she was twenty seven years old. I was eighteen years old. She always felt more like an older sister than an aunt. We spent a lot of time together in my childhood years.
She was married for about a year and got pregnant. Her doctor told her she couldn’t keep the baby. She came to my house, and sat on our ottoman. I knelt by her. I was at a loss for words at that age. I see her face in my minds eye now. She wanted this child so badly. She seemed so torn, and broken that day.
I also remember a time before they married. He told her he had a special night planned for them. He was taking her to Boston for dinner. She was sure he was going to ask her to marry him on this night. I went with her to the salon to have her hair and nails done. She was so excited. She told the stylist all about what might be happening in a few short hours. She wanted something special done to her hair. When we walked out of the salon, she looked comical. Her hair was teased too high on top and she had some sort banana curl thingies going on at the bottom of this "hairdo." We laughed until we cried.
I asked, “Why didn’t you tell her you didn’t like it?”
She said, “I was too embarrassed, she spent so much time on it.”
Auntie only had and hour to wash and restyle her hair before he would be there.
The only special something about this night was taking her to Boston for dinner.
He gave her an engagement ring on Christmas of that year.
When I was about eight months pregnant with my daughter something very strange happened to me. I woke at about five in the morning, and sat up, feet hanging off the bed with the most intense feeling of my aunt Linda.
Every hair on my body seemed to be standing at attention. My mind was focused on her, her name “Linda.” I can’t quite explain it. It felt like her name was echoing in my body, in my mind. She was in and around me. My tears flowed. I whispered, “You are here, aren’t you? I love you.”
I never felt such a powerful feeling as this again from Linda.
It’s time to slumber my cares away. My mind was racing with thoughts about all that isn’t happening here. Linda popped into my head. I like to think she is sitting right next to me.
I miss you so much.
My Aunt Linda passed away when I was eighteen years old. She was really like a big sister to me.
Linda
I’m having flashbacks. They are coming in at different phases of her life, fragmented thoughts.
I miss your deep red hair and chocolate brown eyes. I miss the way you lit up a room with your vivacious personality. You always made us laugh.
The doctors said you wouldn’t live past the age of ten. You proved them wrong time and again. You were full of life, even if your body kept reminding you that you didn’t have long. You defied it, and kept on living.
A new operation gave you a second chance at life. The family debated about you doing this. You only had a 50/50 chance for survival. What did you have to lose, really? Your heart was getting weaker by the day. I was nine years old. Mom called to tell me they wheeled you in the operating room. I said my prayers, and held my breath. I adore you, you know that. I couldn’t bear losing you. You came home almost perfect; you finally had some normalcy. No more piggy back rides up the stairs by my dad or your brothers. Your fingernails and toenails weren’t a bluish color anymore.
My mom had a friend that had a daughter maybe three or four years younger than you. The two of you were introduced. You got to do the things you always wished you could have done as a teen. She took you under her wing and the two of you did things teens do, even though you were past your teen years.
You also decided to get a job, even if it was at Mickey D’s, wearing those silly uniforms.
I heard all about this tall, dark, handsome manager. He was fresh out of college and he trained you. He fell head over heels for you too. I can’t blame him; you were a gorgeous thing.
You told yourself this day in and day out. When I slept over grandma’s house, we shared a room. You had me giggling for hours. We made prank calls to people. You taught me card games and the importance to love one self. Unfortunately, the last one didn’t kick in until I reached my late forties. Well, you know the saying, better late than never. I still smile thinking about you walking up to the mirror every morning. You would pick up your brush, start brushing your long, Auburn hair, stop.... stare at your reflection, and say,
"Linda, you’re gorgeous!"
You leaned into the mirror, kissed your reflection, which sent me into hysterics.
I can’t tell you how much I wish you were here at this moment.
I would give anything to sit down like we use to do so often.
It would be different, better, because we would have a woman to woman pow-wow.
You are always in my heart.
I love you madly. And, I know…someday…
My aunt was born with severe heart defects. She was able to live a somewhat normal life after the operation. She even married the man I mentioned above. She came down with the flu a few short years after she married,was prescribed the wrong medication by a new doctor. I don’t remember all the details. She had major complications. She ended up in emergency and was scheduled to be operated on immediately. Our family rushed to her. I can still see her pacing the room. I was so frightened for her. Looking back, I see she knew she would not make it. I told her I loved her. This was the last time I saw her alive. She lost her life when she was twenty seven years old. I was eighteen years old. She always felt more like an older sister than an aunt. We spent a lot of time together in my childhood years.
She was married for about a year and got pregnant. Her doctor told her she couldn’t keep the baby. She came to my house, and sat on our ottoman. I knelt by her. I was at a loss for words at that age. I see her face in my minds eye now. She wanted this child so badly. She seemed so torn, and broken that day.
I also remember a time before they married. He told her he had a special night planned for them. He was taking her to Boston for dinner. She was sure he was going to ask her to marry him on this night. I went with her to the salon to have her hair and nails done. She was so excited. She told the stylist all about what might be happening in a few short hours. She wanted something special done to her hair. When we walked out of the salon, she looked comical. Her hair was teased too high on top and she had some sort banana curl thingies going on at the bottom of this "hairdo." We laughed until we cried.
I asked, “Why didn’t you tell her you didn’t like it?”
She said, “I was too embarrassed, she spent so much time on it.”
Auntie only had and hour to wash and restyle her hair before he would be there.
The only special something about this night was taking her to Boston for dinner.
He gave her an engagement ring on Christmas of that year.
When I was about eight months pregnant with my daughter something very strange happened to me. I woke at about five in the morning, and sat up, feet hanging off the bed with the most intense feeling of my aunt Linda.
Every hair on my body seemed to be standing at attention. My mind was focused on her, her name “Linda.” I can’t quite explain it. It felt like her name was echoing in my body, in my mind. She was in and around me. My tears flowed. I whispered, “You are here, aren’t you? I love you.”
I never felt such a powerful feeling as this again from Linda.
It’s time to slumber my cares away. My mind was racing with thoughts about all that isn’t happening here. Linda popped into my head. I like to think she is sitting right next to me.
I miss you so much.
Monday, 21 April 2008
My Aunt Linda passed away when I was eighteen years old. She was really like a big sister to me.
Linda
I’m having flashbacks. They are coming in at different phases of her life, fragmented thoughts.
I miss your deep red hair and chocolate brown eyes. I miss the way you lit up a room with your vivacious personality. You always made us laugh.
The doctors said you wouldn’t live past the age of ten. You proved them wrong time and again. You were full of life, even if your body kept reminding you that you didn’t have long. You defied it, and kept on living.
A new operation gave you a second chance at life. The family debated about you doing this. You only had a 50/50 chance for survival. What did you have to lose, really? Your heart was getting weaker by the day. I was nine years old. Mom called to tell me they wheeled you in the operating room. I said my prayers, and held my breath. I adore you, you know that. I couldn’t bear losing you. You came home almost perfect; you finally had some normalcy. No more piggy back rides up the stairs by my dad or your brothers. Your fingernails and toenails weren’t a bluish color anymore.
My mom had a friend that had a daughter maybe three or four years younger than you. The two of you were introduced. You got to do the things you always wished you could have done as a teen. She took you under her wing and the two of you did things teens do, even though you were past your teen years.
You also decided to get a job, even if it was at Mickey D’s, wearing those silly uniforms.
I heard all about this tall, dark, handsome manager. He was fresh out of college and he trained you. He fell head over heels for you too. I can’t blame him; you were a gorgeous thing.
You told yourself this day in and day out. When I slept over grandma’s house, we shared a room. You had me giggling for hours. We made prank calls to people. You taught me card games and the importance to love one self. Unfortunately, the last one didn’t kick in until I reached my late forties. Well, you know the saying, better late than never. I still smile thinking about you walking up to the mirror every morning. You would pick up your brush, start brushing your long, Auburn hair, stop.... stare at your reflection, and say,
"Linda, you’re gorgeous!"
You leaned into the mirror, kissed your reflection, which sent me into hysterics.
I can’t tell you how much I wish you were here at this moment.
I would give anything to sit down like we use to do so often.
It would be different, better, because we would have a woman to woman pow-wow.
You are always in my heart.
I love you madly. And, I know…someday…
My aunt was born with severe heart defects. She was able to live a somewhat normal life after the operation. She even married the man I mentioned above. She came down with the flu a few short years after she married,was prescribed the wrong medication by a new doctor. I don’t remember all the details. She had major complications. She ended up in emergency and was scheduled to be operated on immediately. Our family rushed to her. I can still see her pacing the room. I was so frightened for her. Looking back, I see she knew she would not make it. I told her I loved her. This was the last time I saw her alive. She lost her life when she was twenty seven years old. I was eighteen years old. She always felt more like an older sister than an aunt. We spent a lot of time together in my childhood years.
She was married for about a year and got pregnant. Her doctor told her she couldn’t keep the baby. She came to my house, and sat on our ottoman. I knelt by her. I was at a loss for words at that age. I see her face in my minds eye now. She wanted this child so badly. She seemed so torn, and broken that day.
I also remember a time before they married. He told her he had a special night planned for them. He was taking her to Boston for dinner. She was sure he was going to ask her to marry him on this night. I went with her to the salon to have her hair and nails done. She was so excited. She told the stylist all about what might be happening in a few short hours. She wanted something special done to her hair. When we walked out of the salon, she looked comical. Her hair was teased too high on top and she had some sort banana curl thingies going on at the bottom of this "hairdo." We laughed until we cried.
I asked, “Why didn’t you tell her you didn’t like it?”
She said, “I was too embarrassed, she spent so much time on it.”
Auntie only had and hour to wash and restyle her hair before he would be there.
The only special something about this night was taking her to Boston for dinner.
He gave her an engagement ring on Christmas of that year.
When I was about eight months pregnant with my daughter something very strange happened to me. I woke at about five in the morning, and sat up, feet hanging off the bed with the most intense feeling of my aunt Linda.
Every hair on my body seemed to be standing at attention. My mind was focused on her, her name “Linda.” I can’t quite explain it. It felt like her name was echoing in my body, in my mind. She was in and around me. My tears flowed. I whispered, “You are here, aren’t you? I love you.”
I never felt such a powerful feeling as this again from Linda.
It’s time to slumber my cares away. My mind was racing with thoughts about all that isn’t happening here. Linda popped into my head. I like to think she is sitting right next to me.
I miss you so much.
My Aunt Linda passed away when I was eighteen years old. She was really like a big sister to me.
Linda
I’m having flashbacks. They are coming in at different phases of her life, fragmented thoughts.
I miss your deep red hair and chocolate brown eyes. I miss the way you lit up a room with your vivacious personality. You always made us laugh.
The doctors said you wouldn’t live past the age of ten. You proved them wrong time and again. You were full of life, even if your body kept reminding you that you didn’t have long. You defied it, and kept on living.
A new operation gave you a second chance at life. The family debated about you doing this. You only had a 50/50 chance for survival. What did you have to lose, really? Your heart was getting weaker by the day. I was nine years old. Mom called to tell me they wheeled you in the operating room. I said my prayers, and held my breath. I adore you, you know that. I couldn’t bear losing you. You came home almost perfect; you finally had some normalcy. No more piggy back rides up the stairs by my dad or your brothers. Your fingernails and toenails weren’t a bluish color anymore.
My mom had a friend that had a daughter maybe three or four years younger than you. The two of you were introduced. You got to do the things you always wished you could have done as a teen. She took you under her wing and the two of you did things teens do, even though you were past your teen years.
You also decided to get a job, even if it was at Mickey D’s, wearing those silly uniforms.
I heard all about this tall, dark, handsome manager. He was fresh out of college and he trained you. He fell head over heels for you too. I can’t blame him; you were a gorgeous thing.
You told yourself this day in and day out. When I slept over grandma’s house, we shared a room. You had me giggling for hours. We made prank calls to people. You taught me card games and the importance to love one self. Unfortunately, the last one didn’t kick in until I reached my late forties. Well, you know the saying, better late than never. I still smile thinking about you walking up to the mirror every morning. You would pick up your brush, start brushing your long, Auburn hair, stop.... stare at your reflection, and say,
"Linda, you’re gorgeous!"
You leaned into the mirror, kissed your reflection, which sent me into hysterics.
I can’t tell you how much I wish you were here at this moment.
I would give anything to sit down like we use to do so often.
It would be different, better, because we would have a woman to woman pow-wow.
You are always in my heart.
I love you madly. And, I know…someday…
My aunt was born with severe heart defects. She was able to live a somewhat normal life after the operation. She even married the man I mentioned above. She came down with the flu a few short years after she married,was prescribed the wrong medication by a new doctor. I don’t remember all the details. She had major complications. She ended up in emergency and was scheduled to be operated on immediately. Our family rushed to her. I can still see her pacing the room. I was so frightened for her. Looking back, I see she knew she would not make it. I told her I loved her. This was the last time I saw her alive. She lost her life when she was twenty seven years old. I was eighteen years old. She always felt more like an older sister than an aunt. We spent a lot of time together in my childhood years.
She was married for about a year and got pregnant. Her doctor told her she couldn’t keep the baby. She came to my house, and sat on our ottoman. I knelt by her. I was at a loss for words at that age. I see her face in my minds eye now. She wanted this child so badly. She seemed so torn, and broken that day.
I also remember a time before they married. He told her he had a special night planned for them. He was taking her to Boston for dinner. She was sure he was going to ask her to marry him on this night. I went with her to the salon to have her hair and nails done. She was so excited. She told the stylist all about what might be happening in a few short hours. She wanted something special done to her hair. When we walked out of the salon, she looked comical. Her hair was teased too high on top and she had some sort banana curl thingies going on at the bottom of this "hairdo." We laughed until we cried.
I asked, “Why didn’t you tell her you didn’t like it?”
She said, “I was too embarrassed, she spent so much time on it.”
Auntie only had and hour to wash and restyle her hair before he would be there.
The only special something about this night was taking her to Boston for dinner.
He gave her an engagement ring on Christmas of that year.
When I was about eight months pregnant with my daughter something very strange happened to me. I woke at about five in the morning, and sat up, feet hanging off the bed with the most intense feeling of my aunt Linda.
Every hair on my body seemed to be standing at attention. My mind was focused on her, her name “Linda.” I can’t quite explain it. It felt like her name was echoing in my body, in my mind. She was in and around me. My tears flowed. I whispered, “You are here, aren’t you? I love you.”
I never felt such a powerful feeling as this again from Linda.
It’s time to slumber my cares away. My mind was racing with thoughts about all that isn’t happening here. Linda popped into my head. I like to think she is sitting right next to me.
I miss you so much.
Family Members
See more Duhaime or Baldassarre memorials in:
- Saint Ann Cemetery Duhaime or Baldassarre
- Cranston Duhaime or Baldassarre
- Providence County Duhaime or Baldassarre
- Rhode Island Duhaime or Baldassarre
- USA Duhaime or Baldassarre
- Find a Grave Duhaime or Baldassarre
