Losing...

I wrote a while ago about how we never really forget our first love. I think the same holds true for our first loss, too. We deal with others through the years but, somehow, we can't forget hearing about the first one. There's something about it that just sticks in our minds; a constant, albeit distant, reminder of our first encounter with death.

For me; it was Tanda. I was too young to really understand when Grandpa Brader or Great-Grandma O'Fallon died. I remember when Tanda died very clearly, though.

I'm not sure how to even spell what we called her. In fact, I'm not really sure how her name even came about. Tante means Aunt in German, so it was probably some derivative of that. Somehow, Aunt Theresa just didn't seem right for her.

Tanda was Dad's aunt. She was single and came to live with Grandpa and Dad after Dad's Mom died when he was thirteen years old. She took care of the house, and the men in it.

I loved Tanda. I'm still not exactly sure what it was about her that fascinated me so much, but I adored her. Mom always said that she adored me, too. She said it was because I was the only son of an only son that would carry on the Brader name.

Mom was convinced that Tanda didn't like her much. According to Mom, anyway, there was not a woman on Earth good enough for Dad in Tanda's eyes. Tanda was a devout Catholic and, by Mom's account, thought only Mary herself would have been suitable for Dad.

We used to go see Tanda at the nursing home where she lived out her last days. It was a rather round tower that I thought was really cool. Tanda was in a wheelchair by that time after losing a leg. I remember thinking it was hilarious when she told me that she and another woman at the nursing home would buy shoes together. They each had one only leg and they could, conveniently, buy one pair of shoes and each take the one they needed.

Time took its toll on Tanda like it does us all. I still remember the night Dad came into my bedroom to tell me she may not make it through the night. I was heartbroken. People around me couldn't die! I was too young to deal with losing someone I loved.

The next morning, he came into my room to tell me she was gone. The doctors said she may not make it through the night and she hadn't.

Tanda was gone.

I sat on my bed with my face buried in Dad's chest and I cried. Dad cried with me. That's the only time I ever recall Dad crying, but we sat there and we cried together as we mourned losing Tanda.