Just. One. More. Second.

Five years ago today, I woke up to take a Comparative Government AP exam with one thing on my mind — it wasn’t reviewing Russian oligarchs or missile crises — no, my biggest concern was how quickly I could legally drive to Virginia Beach as soon as the exam was over to see my aunt Donna. Donna had been battling Breast Cancer for quite some time and despite her fighting spirit, was losing this ominous fight. I had received the call the night before to get to the house as soon as possible, but not to push school aside. It was clear, every second was a gift at this point.

To say the exam went poorly would be an understatement, but it was important to Donna and my family that I took it anyways. 3 of my mother’s 4 sisters, including Donna, were teachers. That meant missing an exam wasn’t something easily forgiven. So I took my exam to the best of my abilities. I felt my mother looking over my shoulder during the exam, and could hear Donna in my ear encouraging me saying “hey niece, you got it kiddo!”. I finished the exam and drove off, tears immediately flooding my eyes. I took a wrong turn on my way down and ended up passing our family’s longtime beach spot on 81st street when turning myself around to get to Donna’s house. This felt strange as it was so out of the way, but I came to understand it as a larger symbol grounding me before I arrived at the house.

I arrived to see the weary, but still faintly smiling face of my closest tie to my mother, Donna.

When you talked to Donna on the phone, she sounded just like my mother. When they were both alive, it was hard to discern the difference between them on the phone — even with caller ID, you’d sometimes wonder “am I really talking to my own mother right now?”

This turned into more than a funny gag after my mother passed away. My frequent calls with Donna prior to her health decline from BC were… melancholy. It was always lovely to talk to my aunt and feel the indescribable connection that remained to my mother, but often hard to hear such a familiar and now absent voice. I found comfort in this, as if I was listening to an old audio recording of a loved one that could answer back. My aunt was so supportive of my journey to college after my mother passed away, and remained a constant in my life up until the day she died. The indescribable connection I felt to my mother when I was with her was… ethereal and beyond comforting.

Rushing to greet my aunt after my arrival, through tear-felt eyes and whispers, I knew what was about to happen without having to be told. If you haven’t had to experience witnessing the loss of a loved one, I pray you never do. If you have, you know the pain of wishing for

Just.

One.

More.

Second.

I sat next to Donna, in the same spot I had sat holding her hand on many an occasion over the last 17 years. In my head, I replayed our inside jokes, our happy memories, and the comfort she gave everyone around her after her own twin sister was passing away. I reflected on the strength Donna showed everyone around her despite feeling such a heartache only a twin can truly know. Her courage exemplified her absolutely giving and caring nature throughout all areas of life. As I spoke softly to my aunt, clutching her hand and praying for a movie moment where she would magically be healed again, I felt her leave.

I had only been at the house for maybe, three minutes.

Looking around the room to confirm the unspeakable, I will never forget the first words that another unbelievably selfless and strong Merritt family woman whispered to me through a cracked voice and tear-soaked cheeks —

“She was waiting for you”.

Even in death, Donna thought of others. The pain my weary aunt must’ve been in is something I wouldn’t wish on my darkest enemy. Yet despite this, she fought like hell for me to make that three hour drive to properly say goodbye.

Donna, for that, I am eternally grateful.

I come from a family of strong women, stronger than any of us should have ever had to be — we have endured some of the greatest heartaches and losses known to an earthly being. Like a collection of ballons being pin-pricked without cessation.

But still, like air, we rise.

Donna’s strength, courage, and will to place her own discomfort and final moment of peace to allow me the honor of kissing her goodbye and holding her hand as she faded away left a sizable mark on my heart, mind, and soul.

If there is one thing I wish to do for anyone in my life, it is to share that same selflessness — regardless of my circumstances. I strive every day to help, educate, care for, and love every being I meet as unashamedly as Donna did. As the cliché goes, her sprit does truly live on in me, and everyone around her, especially her wonderful children. My cousins are fighters just like the rest of our small family. Every day, we live in the memory of those we have lost and tirelessly work to emulate their finest qualities to the best of our abilities.

In the face of burdensome loss, Merritt’s adjust themselves, and like air, we rise.

With love, and eternal gratitude,

Your Niece.