Here's to you, Aunt Jackie.

My aunt, Jackie Pignone, was one of the physically smallest people I've ever know.  She was short, ridiculously skinny, and scrawny. True to the family form, she made up for lack of size with immense spirit. She was always the life of the party, laughing and constantly telling stories. She was scrappy and could hold her own in any situation. She was always bubbly, vivacious, and over the top. To know her was to love her, and she made friends everywhere she went. Sure, she had her bad moments (hello, she was human!), but I mostly remember her laughter. I see her at the family reunions, holding a warm Jack and Pepsi, exaggerating her arm movements in accompaniment with her outrageous stories. She was a lover, a spritely trickster, and loved to have a good time.

Aunt Jackie passed away May 7, 2008. That was the day the sun stopped shining as brightly. Colors faded, and everything just grew dull.

In honor of her, last Thursday I took the plunge. I got a tattoo. It's my one and only, because there is no way I will ever go through the pain again. The only thing that kept me from leaping off the table and running out of the building was thinking of Jackie. She made it through so much worse pain then I could ever imagine. To distract myself, I pictured Jackie, sitting in a hammock up in heaven, laughing hysterically at the lovely faces I was making. I could see her perfectly, holding a plastic cup full of warm Pepsi and Jack.

Here's to you Aunt Jackie.