Friday, October 14, 2011
This is the woman who taught me to swim and laugh and I am so incredibly sad right now. I just learned the news a few minutes ago, and ironically, tonight I was telling a story about my Aunt Alva.. so, the thing is that she has always been close and near to my thoughts- and always will. When I was a little boy growing up in New Jersey, she was always there and an ever-present part of my life. In summers, to have me run around the pool. In winters, to put together puzzles and eat coffee cake. Watching TV, spend time in the kitchen or listen to her, my mom or other relatives tell story after story, my grandparents or all the other relatives about Sweden and the good old days. What a grand experience they all shared, and how amazing to think of the legacy that Aunt Alva carried. In 1919, the World War 1 had just ended, the Great Depression had not even hit yet. Both The League of Nations and the USSR was about to come in to, and then fade from existence. The Wright Brothers had lifted off from Kitty Hawk only 13 years earlier, but in 1919 the first nonstop transatlantic flight was made. The 18th Amendment (ratifying Prohibition) was signed in to law, kicking off the age of Al Capone, the Tommy Gun and the Speakeasy. What an amazing, rich, and unique period of time and she brought all of that to life for us. Tied in with all this, were story after story of Sweden, the homeland, and life for her as a child, with people who we had never met but were related to from the old country. Looking back on those times, I enjoy how each and every memory seemes to have been from a sunny, warm day. It wasn't, I know. But the key to me is that my Aunt Alva was the sun that warmed the room, brought the light of her spirit and gleam of her smile to the memory. It was always a good time. And even if it wasn't, she made it one. She was a force to be reckoned with, and everyone knew it. Spunk, sass, even the kackle of her laugh were unique and special. When I turned 10, I received a special present. It was a massive box. "Open it", Aunt Alva said. So, I did. Bright eyed, thrilled at this incredibly large present, I attacked the box and tore off the wrapping. When I opened the box, I found.. another wrapped box. Box after box after box. The present became smaller and smaller, similar to a complex and challenging Russian nesting doll. Some boxes were wrapped in Chicken Wire, some in duct tape. It took almost 20 minutes as this present shrank in size and the laughter around the room- my own undefined rose. Finally, I opened the last box- a matchbox car. 30 years later, I can still recall that experience and the tapestry of messages it meant for me, then and now. What an amazing life- 92 years of stories, sass and rich experiences. I will sorely miss my Aunt Alva. But know that she is resting with God and I will see her again one day. I'll miss you Aunt Alva. And I love you. Doug
