that which we leave behind
![Image](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsDlgFfICvxDHyJgjPM7iCyHXsXvT4jzeYYaSCwrrwMUadJMQ3OwgocxQOhqKkrBEzRIcCKblo3OXXfOQ6NIqQwWRJEDRlC83bUqYo1wvlDIaiIEkh0RW6ertZK4yLe5tKMSaPFKqKlEij/w331-h513/IMG-1144+%25281%2529.jpg)
This weekend began the process of cleaning out my aunt's home. She lived in the same house her entire life, from childhood until the day she died. I don't know if she ever wanted to move, or if she was ever offered the opportunity. I wish I could ask about her about things she may have wanted but never had. Whether marriage and children were dreams of hers left unrealized or if she happily took a different path from the beginning. I have a feeling I know what she'd say, but that's not the type of question with a clear cut answer, is it? I have no doubt her answer would be the same way. But her life was never lacking in love. I hope she knew that. However she may have felt, her lack of familial and housing expenses left an abundance of time and disposable income. My aunt was a woman of unquestionable style. Chanel and Prada were here typical designers of choice. A timeless flat or loafer, elegant blazers and blouses tailored to a T, a classic red lip every time. Her sign