"Beth. This is your Aunt Jan. Do you remember me?"
My dad's little sister. I could never forget.
"I'm sorry to bother you but I needed to let you know your Aunt Kay died this past weekend."
My dad died almost 30 years ago. He was 36. I was 12. I haven't seen this side of the family regularly since his funeral.
"I called your grandmother to get your phone number."
I've missed this part of my family. Twelve years of memories are all I have.
"I need to get your address because your Aunt Kay left you something in her will."
I used to be bitter about how things turned out. How it seemed my sister and I didn't matter any more. Now I know that it was just life that got in the way.
"They found her on Saturday. At this point, we think she had a heart attack. Just like her son. In the same chair."
Poor, poor Aunt Kay lost both her husband and her only child to heart attacks. Now she can rest between them.
"Your grandmother updated me on all that has been going on in your life. I'm real proud of you. Your dad would be real proud, too."
And those tears I'm usually so good at holding back, I'm not doing so well today.