Learning how to live again

"You need to hurry," Winnie necessitated "I'm packed. The movers have been here and gone. I was just getting ready to leave."There was a long pause in the conversation. "Winnie? You still there?" "I am still here." Winnie said with her voice cracking. I could hear the tears in her voice, which only made me want to cry too. My chest ached. "Winnie I am so sorry about this. I know my aunt is your best friend but just don't forget she raised me. She is the only family I have left," I cried "That is not true. You have a lot of people in this town that love you like family. You'll see.” Winnie comforted. The grief I felt was overwhelming. When I was just a small child, I had been left with a neighbor so my parents could have a rare date night. They were killed by a drunk driver who ran a red light and crushed their car with his massive truck. I barely remembered my parents. I remember smells like my mom’s perfume and how she read to me every night. How my dad use to swim with me on his back. Aunt Mary raised me as if I was her own child. She was my mother’s sibling and was only at 26. She gave up her New York City life to return to her hometown. When she left the city, she left a boyfriend, an apartment she loved and a high paying sales position. My aunt never hesitated in raising me. She treated me like I was her own child. Nothing had gone right from the second I was told my aunt had stopped her cancer treatments. I had been working for the daily newspaper as a reporter. Odd hours, long days and little pay. Once, reporting had been my dream job. I pictured myself as a young female version of Bob Woodward of the Washington Post. It only took a few years for me to lose my delusions of grander. Few people in journalistic history ever cracked huge stories like Watergate. I was fried. I felt like I was writing the same news pieces I had the year before. Just as I was thinking of a career change, Winnie, my Aunt Mary’s best friend called my cell phone. She had never called me before. Dread built in my stomach, causing agonizing pain. She told me my aunt had been diagnosed with lung cancer. She had sought treatment and eventually was told her cancer was terminal. “Doctor says she only has a few months. It’s time for you to come home!” When Winnie gave marching orders, she meant business. She was a retired high school principal and expected immediate obedience.