By the time you read this, my 96-year-old aunt, Gladys, may be singing with the angels.  Then again, she may still be hanging on.  She’s a pretty tough old gal.  But she hasn’t eaten for weeks and is non-responsive most of the time.  And so the watch has begun.  My mother and their other sister stay by Gladys’ bed-side almost constantly.  The preacher stops by and prays periodically.  We all sleep lightly at night, knowing that one of the nurses could call at any time.
I remember the death watch for my grandmother and my father very clearly.  They both had leukemia.  This is different.  It’s the first time I’ve watched a healthy person just wear out and die of old age.  And it’s a peculiar experience.
It’s ironic that it’s Aunt Gladys.  She was one who wasn’t supposed to live long at all.  When she was born in 1915, she weighed less than two pounds and was delivered at home by a midwife.  There was no NICU with state-of-the-art equipment.  There wasn’t even a warming isolet in which to lay her frail body.  The doctor who came to the house told her mother not to bond with her, because she wouldn’t make it more than an hour or two.  Instead, my grandmother forced milk through her tiny lips, one drop at a time and held her close so that her own body heat could warm the baby.  Everyone prayed.  And Aunt Gladys fought for life --  and won.  I guess it’s that same fighting spirit that has kept her alive this long.  But, God bless her, Aunt Gladys just doesn’t have any fight left in her.  She’s weary and tired and just wants to go to Jesus.  I can’t say that I blame her.  She’s paid her dues down here.
Aunt Gladys never had any children of her own, so she doted on all us nieces.  She made us beautiful doll clothes and accessories.  We were always the envy of the other little girls.
After we were grown, Aunt Gladys continued to make things.  She made Christmas ornaments out of cereal boxes.  She made replacement limbs for broken dolls out of sawdust and glue.  And, of course, she sewed doll clothes for our children and grandchildren.  My older daughter, Hollie, at about age nine, once exclaimed, “Mommy, Aunt Gladys can make anything!”  It was pretty much the truth.
Now Aunt Gladys can’t even make a sound or open her eyes without great effort.  It’s hard to believe that someone who was always a hero in your eyes can come to such a state.  But it’s the way of life, and we learn to accept it.  Still, it isn’t easy.
One of the things I’ll most remember about Aunt Gladys is that she was always a straight shooter.  She never pulled any punches.  When she gave us those lovely handmade Christmas presents, she told us that she made them -- no giving credit to a fat guy in a red suit.  She was also the one who told me that our ancestors were Apaches.  Apparently, due to embarrassment over their savagery, someone in the family decided to fib and say we were Cherokee.  But Aunt Gladys found out the truth and thought we should all know it.  The day she told me, she leaned in close and whispered, “They were the mean ones, you know.  But Grandma Annie (who was full Apache) was the gentlest, sweetest woman you ever saw.”  I smiled and believed her.  I always believed her.
Now, I’m having a hard time believing that she’s leaving us.  But I understand.  So, until Aunt Gladys takes her final breath, we’re saying our good-bye’s . . . and keeping watch.
Thanks for giving me a moment of your time.