Aunt Gloria

December 1979

The Saturday after Thanksgiving I was shuffling through the mail that had just been dropped off and I saw a red envelope from Guideposts magazine. I sucked my breath back into my body and I stared down at it. I knew what it would say even before I opened it. And I was right. A subscription had been gifted to me for Christmas, just as it was every year. From Gloria Hoolsema.

But here's the thing, Gloria passed away on November eleventh.

It was a complete surprise. And it was completely expected.

Since before I can remember Gloria had been battling Multiple Sclerosis (MS). It hit her quick decades ago and it hit her hard. She swiftly moved into a wheelchair and the disease ravaged her physical body. But not her brain. Or her spirit. Never her spirit.

May 1983

Angela and I went home for the funeral. It was important to be with our family. It was important to say goodbye. To remember the good times. To remember the not so good times. To sit in that church on that Tuesday and thank God for her life. And to be a little bit angry at what had happened. Back then and again that week. It's hard sometimes. Most of the time. To make sense of what illness does to us, all of us.

August 1982

Gloria was just thirteen when I was born. Young for an aunt. And I don't remember much from when I was little but the photograph books loving assembled tell me she loved being an aunt. Pictures of me from birth, in her arms, her on the ground playing with me, we look happy. We were happy. We played, we read books, she babysat us, even accompanied us to another uncle's wedding so my parents could party all night while she watched over us. I attended her graduations, and even later, went to her alma mater -- Olivet College.

And Gloria supported me in such an encouraging way. Even though words were few, especially in later years when MS took most of her ability to speak, she always made sure I got gifts that helped shape me. Novels by Christian authors, books she thought I needed to read, and the aforementioned subscription to Guideposts. I honestly think of her and her faith every time I pick up the small periodical.

Her faith was on display for all to see. She lived her faith every single day. She was an active member of her church, from her chair. She preached without words, as we are taught to do as Christians, and she preached loudly. She loved loudly.

She loved her children, her husband, her family, Texas sheet cake, playing cards (winning even more), family genealogy, music, and so much more. But I am blessed because she loved me. To have her with me for thirty nine years was beyond special. To have her memory with me forever, an unbelievable gift. One of my most favorite memories is from just this past August, at her son Jeremy's wedding. We danced all night -- all of us. Gloria on the dance floor surrounded by her friends and family, her lifetime of love, we all danced together. We sang favorite songs and made sure no one was left out of the circle. We took photos and hugged and to say I am grateful for that day is such an understatement. To know that we were all together for something so happy, something so celebratory, just months before she was gone leaves me gulping through tears. Happy tears, for the most part.

August 2016

There were tears that Friday morning when we found out she was gone. There were tears for days, shared with family and friends. Shared for her love, her spirit, her faith. But also because the world is a little less bright right now. A little less shiny. Gloria is gone but she will never be forgotten. She is a part of me, of so many. A bright, shining, loud part. And I love that. And her.