While we were back home in North Carolina helping care for my parents, I went down the road from my parents’ house to see my Aunt Jill. We live in Baton Rouge, Louisiana now, and I appreciate every visit I have with her, especially as I grow older.

Aunt Jill is 88 years old, soon to be 89 this June. She’s the oldest living member of what was once a family of fourteen children — my Dad’s sister, and a living link to the world that shaped us. Now, only four siblings remain. She still lives alone in Sandy Ridge, quietly taking care of herself, carrying on in her own humble way.

When I arrived, she greeted me with her familiar, quiet laugh, the kind that makes you feel instantly welcome. She told me she had spent part of the afternoon working outside, cleaning up around the old home place. Nearly 89 years old, and still out there tending to the yard like she always has.

As we talked, I mentioned that we would be flying out of Charlotte to head back to Louisiana. She laughed softly and shook her head. “I don’t fly,” she said.

She told me about the time she had flown to Washington, D.C., years ago — one of the rare times she’d been on a plane. After she returned home from that trip, she had a dream that there was an accident, and she was the only one who didn’t survive. That dream stayed with her, and from then on, she decided she’d stay on the ground.

I asked her if she hadn’t flown out to Aunt Juanita’s funeral in California years ago. She laughed again and said, “No, Tina drove me out there.” Tina is her daughter, and together they made the long drive all the way to San Francisco.
After she told me that, I remembered.

We laughed and talked about family, about how the years pass faster than you expect. Aunt Jill mentioned she doesn’t drive much anymore — just into town to do her laundry, pick up groceries, and come right back. She said she likes being home. There was no sadness in her voice — just a peacefulness, a satisfaction with her life.

The 45-minute visit went by quickly. When it came time to leave, I gave her a big hug and said, “I love you.”
She smiled up at me and said, “I love you too.”

As I stepped out into the yard, I heard her call after me, sweet and strong as ever:
“Y’all be careful going home.”

It might have sounded like an afterthought to someone else.
But I knew better.
It was Aunt Jill, saying I love you — one more time.

As Best as I Remember It.

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Joel Scales is a native of Sandy Ridge and now lives in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

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