Farewell to my Fat Aunt

That's horrible, isn't it?  But it's the truth of how my mind is processing her death.
As children, my siblings and I whispered between one another that my aunt was the 'fattest person on earth'.  Of course, I logically realize this was far from the truth, but, from our limited perspective, it was true.  We would watch with abject horror for her stomach to slip into visibility from underneath the bottom of her skirt.  As a teenager, I remember sitting with her as she opened one of the BIG bags of chips and ate the whole thing without stopping.  She saw my eyes upon her, no doubt, viewing her progress with increasing dismay, but she had some internal craving that was far stronger than any vestiges of shame that might have remained at that point.
In all honesty, those are the strongest memories of her that I have.  I stayed with her children a few times before I became a teenager, and I can relate other things, of course.
The good?  Yes, there's that.  I was tickled to pieces at going to the grocery store with my aunt's family.  They bought ice cream AND cones--we went home and ate ice cream cones, which I NEVER did with my own family.  That was a rare and fantastic treat for me!
What else?  The books!  My aunt liked to read, and, when I was 12 years old, she gave me two FULL paper bags of Harlequin romances.  I spent the whole summer reading them.  I reveled in these light romances--until I became bored of their redundancy.  Honestly, they were quite formulaic after a while.  There was the rare one with a different twist--the beach girl in love with the sun-kissed, light-hearted fellow.  That was refreshing after all those governesses in love with the brooding, tall dark and handsome types, you know.   All that said, though--at the time, I did appreciate the books very much.
As for personality, my aunt was about as different from my mother as could be.  Even in looks, actually.  My mother was taller, blonde and thin--healthy and very serious.  Aunt Dolly was brunette, plump, loud, playful, and prone to stretch the truth.  She always had a ton of animals in her home, but she didn't clean very much, so they made it quite unpleasant.  You can see from the food and romance books that she had a penchant for indulging in pleasure--and, again, that reminds us that pleasure is something to mete out carefully.
I once saw a picture of my aunt as a girl, and I thought she was quite pretty.  It's a shame what we can do to ourselves, and thinking of her reminds me of the need to get a grip on my weight while it's still possible.  I really do believe that she was seized with a forceful, compelling urge to eat--how else could you continue downing all those chips as a teenager stares at you?  I think her urge was probably as intense as any drug addict's urge.  Sure, an addict might feel an element of shame at shooting up in front of people, but many would go ahead and do so anyhow.  That's what she did.
I recall a time several years ago when, at my heaviest weight, I often felt 'off'.  I began to have intense food cravings at moments--so much so that I felt almost nauseated oftentimes just before realizing that I was hungry.  It was intense, and I suspected blood sugar dysregulation.  That prompted me to lose quite a bit of weight, but it was very difficult at first.  And I was NEVER nearly as out of control as my aunt was.  I have sympathy for her, because I doubt that, at a point like she was at, that I could have done much differently from her.
I suppose I do brood about my weight quite a bit, but it seemed rather poignant that I've just been considering it more seriously again when my 'fat aunt' passed.  She lived so much longer than I'd expected her to, but that was in part due to modern medicine.  She had her first heart attack many years ago.  She's younger than my mother, but I'm still impressed that she made it into her mid 60's.
I don't mean to be disrespectful here.  I am grateful to my aunt for sort of indulging me, too.  She treated others as she wanted to be treated, I suppose--when she was feeling well.  She had a mean streak that I believe was probably prompted by a bit of jealousy--or shame that she didn't pull herself together more and that we obviously noticed it.
Okay, so this is a lesson to me.  I, too, enjoy reading.  I, too, LOVE my animals.  I, too, am prone to be lazy and not clean the house.  I, too, LOVE good food.  My mother doesn't read much, she cleans diligently, she watched her weight very well until menopause, and she doesn't welcome messy creatures at all.  I was reared by my mom, but I'm still prone to all those indulgences that my aunt seemed addicted to.  Luckily, I am in a position that I'm still able to exert some self-control and keep from falling into my aunt's situation.  It merely requires some WILLPOWER and action.  As in, don't just think but DO!
Yep, my house is particularly messy right now and I've been packing back on the pounds since recovering from the depths of illness.  Time to get a grip!  Okay, I'll get off of here in a few minutes and start cleaning--I'd like to get the downstairs straightened up a bit before heading to her viewing tomorrow.  Compassion for others leads to greater understanding of ourselves, don't you think?  I have much compassion for my aunt's situation--in the course of which I understand my own tendencies better.  I don't think it's heartless of me to try to NOT be like her.  In a way, it's honoring her--much as it would be honoring an alcoholic relative to cease drinking alcohol upon his death, you know?  I'm sure my aunt wasn't proud of her indulgences, though she was largely in denial about them.
Moderation is such a challenge for me, but that's the best way, generally (not always).  Life isn't about avoiding challenges, though.  In fact, we only have a finite amount of 'sway' we're allowed before things become irrevocably damaged.  We need to be careful and keep that in mind.  Yes, it can be redundant, but hospital visits aren't exactly a joy, either.