Wearing red for a funeral?

I am wearing my favorite red shirt today. It might seem an odd choice for my aunt’s funeral. Red was her favorite color, and the tribute seems appropriate for the celebration of a life that spanned exactly 7 weeks shy of 99 years.

Words fail me as I try to capture just what Aunt Libby meant to me. She was my daddy’s big sister, six years older, nearly a foot shorter, and quite a few pounds lighter. I loved hearing her tell, on his 80th birthday, of her mother, my Mama Camp, placing baby Jimmy in her arms and how proud she was to hold him. She held him up in so many ways throughout his 86 years. To my parents, she and my Uncle Gus were siblings and best friends. We spent many an evening visiting at their house, back when that was what you did. I enjoyed the puzzles and coloring books kept in the special cabinet under the TV.

They were part of the Greatest Generation; Gus was in the Pacific during World War II, and Libby a young bride raising her two beloved girls.

She was always a special part of my life, but after Mama Camp died when I was 11, Libby became a type of surrogate grandmother for me. Our family Christmas Eve that had always been with our grandparents moved to their house and contained thousands of laughs and hugs and so much love.

She and Gus were among the first people Larry and I hurried to tell when we got engaged, and I saw happy tears brim her eyes when I told her we would be married on what was Mama Camp’s birthday.

Her obituary included the verse from Proverbs 31 that her children rise up and call her blessed. I’m right there with them, so very thankful for the gift she is in my life.

I will send her a private smile whenever I next wear red.