(06-29-2016, 01:39 PM)Seraph Wrote: So, my auntie died today. Her name was Denise. She must've been in her sixties, I would think. She had Downs Syndrome and had spent the last week and a half in hospital with pneumonia. We knew this was coming.

I don't know how I feel. Sort of hollow, I guess, just partly scooped out. I haven't seen her for I don't know how many years, barely thought about her until the start of this month, when I met another lady with Downs who had the same name. I feel distant.

She used to be looked after by my Granny, until Granny was into her eighties and no longer able to cope, and then she moved to a special care home. Granny died just two days before my daughter was born, so I couldn't attend the funeral and I have no idea how Denise took it, whether she even understood.

When I was a child and Granny came to visit for Sunday lunch or some such, Denise would come too and of course she was always there when we were the ones doing the visiting.

I didn't like being around her. She made me feel this terrible sadness when I realised she didn't understand a lot of what was going on and I would feel guilty too. I don't even know why.

I remember this one time, just the once, when a cousin and I were jumping on a bed in Granny's old house and Denise saw us and joined in. She was too big, too clumsy. It was ridiculous and unsafe and I can't actually remember what happened next except that we were told off and I looked at Denise in a different way and couldn't bear the selfish sorrow of it all.

I'm sad for my Dad, of course. I think today is the first day it has truly occurred to me what it might have been like to grow up with a younger sister with Downs. They were a big family and perhaps that helped, but... It must have been difficult sometimes.

Dad always treated her like a child, in a good way, I mean, laughing and calling her silly names (he loves silly nicknames). He loved her very much, I think and I don't know how much it must be hurting him today.

But I'm hundreds of miles away and cold and unsure and...

Writing this is a kind of catharsis, although one bitterly incomplete. I probably won't tell anyone else any of this. I fear it makes me an awful human being.

I'm sorry, Denise. I should have loved you more and pitied you less. I hope you find true rest.

I am so sorry for your loss Seraph. I offer my condolences and prayers to you and your family.