My aunt Hazel believed in three things; family, quiet good works, and a hot cup of coffee. 

She came from a different world, a more quiet and civil world of large families and woolen bathing suits, where the father did not walk on the beach for fear of appearing improper, and where, as she sadly recalled, the first Armistice Day was celebrated gaily to mark the end of the War to End all Wars. Her world passed long ago, and yet she remained, always somehow out of place. 

But at the same time she was completely of this place, the shore, and however far she traveled, she always returned. She felt comfortable here, and the place was better for her presence. She had no children, but she taught generations of children. And when we would go around town adults who had been her students decades ago remembered and loved her, the same as the residents and nurses at the nursing home loved her. This was one of her special gifts, to somehow move people to love through kindness and genuineness. 

Hazel valued her independence, her dignity, and her privacy. In some ways it seems she always lived alone. But if she had regrets, she kept them to herself. She never asked for anything and she never complained. In her last days when I would ask her how she was doing, at worst she would say, ‘so so.’ But when I saw her at the nursing home over the weekend and she could no longer speak, she raised her hand and touched my sunburned forehead with a concerned expression. 

When I was born, she was the age I am now. Perhaps that completed some great circle. I’m glad I got to know her again as an adult, and that she got to know me, and Rachel, and the kids. She had little pleasure in the past few years, but I know we brought her some. I hope now she can rest.