In Light Of My Great Aunt’s Passing, I’d Like To Apologize For All The Ways I Called Her Fat
Heaven has one more angel now, but it might feel like they’ve gained three.
It is with a heavy heart that I must announce the passing of my Great Aunt Ingrid. She was great in many ways. Not only was she literally my great aunt, my father’s aunt to be specific, but she was also an exceptional individual.
She was also very, very large.
Among her many accomplishments, she was most proud of being the first woman over 400 pounds to reach the top of Mt. Everest. She told the story often, and I now deeply regret my comment that she reached the top easily because her weight caused most of the mountain to sink back into the earth.
In truth, it was not easy for her to summit the world’s tallest mountain. I’ll never forget the way her eyes glazed over with a 100 yard stare as she explained her anguish at having to eat her climbing partner when the two became stranded in a cave. I’ll also never forgive myself for telling everyone she came prepared with BBQ sauce in her backpack.
Her face wore a similar look when she told us that she was meant to be aboard the Titanic on its fateful voyage. She let it pass when I insinuated that she missed the ship because she got stuck in the door exiting an all you can eat buffet. She wasn’t as forgiving at my comment that it was a shame she wasn’t there, as they could have strapped her to the hull to cushion the blow. She sent me to bed without dinner that night. I still think it may have been because she wanted it for herself. I sincerely hope she enjoyed it.
Looking back on her life now, I realize just how remarkable she was. She accomplished feats that would be difficult for even the fittest individuals. She traveled the world, even though no airplane could contain her. She stunned Broadway audiences in her short-lived performance as “The hill that was alive with the sound of music.” Truly, inside her chest beat a belabored heart of gold. She had the courage of a lion, the wisdom of an owl, and the four stomachs of a cow. I wish I’d gotten the chance to tell her how much I admired her before the helicopter airlifted her to the morgue.
Even my final words to her will haunt me for the rest of my life. If I’d known that her hot air balloon would give way, sending her plummeting to the ground, I never would have suggested that she would make a better balloon than a passenger. Although it seems I may have been right. I loved my Great Aunt Ingrid, and would like to go back and swallow every last comment I made about her. Of course, if I could, I’d be even fatter than she was. Rest in peace, Aunty Ingrid. Just be sure not to fall through heaven’s clouds.
