And then there was one.

Dink is the baby of a family of 6 girls.
All of the sisters lived to be well into their 80's; a couple even lived to be in their early 90's.  Dink's only remaining sister died this year in October - she was 93.  Dink is now the only living one of her original family.  I can't comprehend what that must actually feel like, but I'd think it is quite an unsettling feeling.

As one would expect, Dink wanted to attend her last sister's funeral.  The funeral was to be in the small town where her sister lived, two hours from Dink's home.  Dink wanted to drive there and she wanted my sister to ride there with her.  My sister told Mom she would be glad to go with her to the funeral, but that she would be doing the driving.

"I can drive".
"What makes you think that just because I'm old, I can't drive?".
And so the days leading up to the funeral went.
Mom was enraged that my sister would not ride in the car with her to attend this funeral.

The day of the funeral came and Mom rode in the car with my sister.  Mom was "red hot" angry, so there were few words spoken on that particular day.  My sister chose to drive a route different than the one Mom had traveled before.  This fact added even more insult to injury.  Mom had trouble getting past this.  She later relayed this story to me over and over and then over again.

There were once six little girls who lived, and loved, and raised families.
And then there was one.
Dink.


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