My aunty died yesterday.

Well, great great aunty. Eileen.
My nan's aunty. She was ninety seven. She's been in hospital about two months.

It's not like I knew her that well. I won't pretend it's been like losing my second mother. It's not, at all. I'd only ever met the woman about three times. But she was interesting as hell to talk to. She wasn't one of those old people who tells you the same story four times in ten minutes. Last time I saw her (my mother won't let me into hospitals. I find them extremely depressing and they give me panic attacks) she was trotting around making tea, offering biscuits, telling stories about her husband. She was one of those women who really knows.

She's been waiting to die for years. Not a few years. But for the majority of her life. She got married young - that's what you did in those days, wasn't it? - and had her kids young, I think she has two daughters, but I've only met the one. And her husband died in an accident when she was in her late twenties / early thirties. She never remarried. She once told me that "I've never opened my legs again, Kate, and it was the only smart thing to do! Men are all after the same thing, I wouldn't give it to them, love. Keep your knickers on." Bless her, that's real, tragic love. It put my love woes in perspective, at least.

She broke my heart when she told me that she had to identify the body of her husband. I can't remember his name. I can't remember what happened in his accident either, but it was gory, he was a construction worker in the old Cwmfelinfach mines, I think, and y'know, accidents down there could be pretty nasty. I can only remember the part when she told me that three quarters of his face had been ripped to shreds by metal, or something. She said she's never been able to get that picture out of her head. She said her daughter (the one I've never met) never forgave herself, because they'd had an argument that morning about something. I don't know.

But yeah. She told me she was waiting to die. To join him in 'Heaven'. I didn't tell her that I don't buy the idea of Heaven. That's not polite. But it's all she's wanted to do for years.

Her whole body was going into meltdown, basically, last report I heard before she died. Her blood wasn't working right, so they were trying to give her transfusions and they weren't working because as soon as they stuck a needle in, her arteries and veins would just collapse in on themselves. (My nan told me that over new years day dinner. I had just about five minutes gotten past a panic attack brought on by my father being a dick about my phobia of injections. My mother said I just went white as a sheet of paper in about nought point two seconds). It's sad really. She was in pain.

I don't know how she died. They haven't told me. I think they just took her off her medications and stuff though. They weren't doing anything. I'm no doctor, and I don't want to be corrected if I'm wrong, but I'd like to think that that means that she just would've fallen asleep and not woken up.

I don't know when the funeral is. I'm trying to keep light about it. Keep happy. I mean, it's not like I really knew her, I have this thing that I will hide my true feelings, even if they're genuine, if they're not justified. Y'know? I can't justify missing her, because we rarely spoke, so I won't admit I do miss her, in case people think I'm attention seeking.

It's more that deaths, even when you don't particularly know the person, remind you that everyone dies at some point. And that scares me. Like in my previous journal, I'm not scared that I'll die, I don't really give a damn about that - I'm scared that other people will die.

My formtutor had a go at me for not doing any work in a lesson, so when she walked away, I started crying. This darling boy called Cione (he's an absolute sweetheart) hugged me until I was okay. And it's not like he had to do that, y'know. He told my formtutor and then she hugged me and let me stay out of the lesson and just mong around in the corridor for a bit. (It's hard to explain. There's like a really really private, spacey corridor between the main corridor and her classroom). Cione is a sweetheart. He hugged me and kept my secret when he saw a bunch of scars up my arm too. I mean, it's not like it's his job to do that or anything. I'm not his girlfriend or anything and we're not even particularly close. He's just such a darling whenever anyone's upset. I can't even describe it. :]

But yeah. My formtutor then asked "wouldn't you like to live that long?!" and I didn't realise that that was a rhetorical question (that's exactly the sort of person I am, ahah) and said no. I really wouldn't though, not unless I was healthy and happy and all that jazz.

I don't know. I'm just a bit "in a mood" as dad puts it, so charmingly. I think I have a right to be.

And Mum told him to tell me before she'd spoken to me, (but then I found out off her when I rang about maths homework, which I've actually done for once) and he still hasn't mentioned it. So as far as he knows, I don't know. Mum wouldn't have bothered him again just to let him know that he didn't have to tell me. She doesn't like to bother him now. They used to be quite good friends until that bitch of a stepmum who is currently perched in my living room like a vain oversized peacock took over and turned him against her.

I guess I'm rambling now.
Rest in peace, Aunty Eileen.
February 2nd, 2010 at 10:59pm