A remarkable end to a remarkable life

Today, I put off the post on my North Carolina visit to pay tribute to a remarkable woman, whose courage and spirit in the face of adversity were truly awesome. That woman is my aunt, Margaret Bonafede, who died yesterday morning at the age of 75.

She was known by Peg or Peggy to everyone . . . except to my sisters and brother and I. We called her Aunt M. The "M" was for Margaret. One of my siblings may know the reason why; I only know that we did. And she didn't mind.

I remember with great fondness visiting her and my Uncle Dave and my cousins Thom and Bill in their apartment in Amsterdam, NY when I was a child. What a treat it was for us to have lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at her home, because we got to have WELCH'S GRAPE JELLY from Archie glasses, as was popular back in the late 60s/early 70s. (We had to eat homemade raspberry jam day after day after day . . .). And her cooking, omigod, out of this world. With a father-in-law who was Italian and owned a pizza parlor (or two, I don't remember the specifics), and a Polish mother-in-law, she learned to make all this fantastic food. To this day the only meatball recipe I use is Aunt M's. And I have her spaghetti sauce recipe, although I admit I'm a bit timid about making sauce, for some reason. If it was great having lunch at her house, it was heaven to have supper!

I have so many wonderful memories of her, of visits to her house and visits to our house. But I think I will mostly remember her for her determined spirit. First, a horrific fall down a flight of stairs when I was young that took her months to recuperate from. And my aunt had muscular dystrophy. It ran on her mother's side of the family, and out of five children, she was the only one to have it. Yet she took it in stride, accepted it, and continued to live as normal a life as possible. As her ability to walk became impaired later in life, she used leg braces . . . then a wheelchair and scooter (what's it called...). Still she kept up with her daily chores and cooking, until it became too difficult to do. I recall several years ago visiting her on a trip up north. She had recently gotten a feeding tube put in because she could no longer swallow food. As we talked about it, I asked her if she missed food. She replied that she didn't miss it, she didn't feel hungry, but the hardest part for her was that she couldn't taste the food she cooked to check for seasonings. At that moment I felt nothing but admiration for my aunt and was inspired by her.

She was the last of five siblings in the Bradt family to leave this earth. In light of her physical condition, she was the last one anyone expected to go last. That fact alone attests to her will and determination - what we call the Bradt stubbornness - to carry on and live life to the fullest. She had a husband who loved her. Two great sons her adored her. Good friends. And one niece, undoubtedly more nieces and nephews, who find her passing difficult to fathom. Yet at the same time, we are happy that she is with Uncle Dave and my mom and dad - a great rummy foursome in their day - and that she and Uncle Dave, as my cousin Thom has said, are dancing once again.

Thank you for all the happy memories. You'll never be far away as long as I have them. I love you, Aunt M.