Honoring my aunt’s legacy

Monday marked five years since my aunt left this world, yet her presence remains deeply ingrained in my heart. She was more than family—she was my best friend, my confidant, my rock. A mentor, a muse, a second mother. She filled so many roles in my life, each one leaving a lasting impact.

My aunt Juanita was one of my mother’s youngest siblings, and she lived life unapologetically. She marched to the beat of her own drum, embodying a cool, fearless spirit that inspired my cousins and me to chase our dreams. Despite her free-spirited nature, she was the glue that held our family together, always ensuring we stayed connected.

She had an incredibly kind heart and would have given the moon to anyone who asked. No matter her financial situation, she made it a priority to sponsor a Christmas dinner for a family in need each year. She worked in a hospital lab, a job that showcased her intelligence and resilience, but in her free time, she pursued an unexpected passion—mortuary work. Ironically, she was easily spooked by the smallest things, but that only added to her charm.

Fashion and beauty were a big part of her life, a passion she passed down to me. Growing up, I wasn’t allowed to get manicures or dye my hair—my mom thought I was too young. But Aunt Juanita always had a way of persuading her, even if it required some intense debates. Thanks to her, I got my first set of French tips and the balayage I desperately wanted.

Most of my family, including my aunt, lives in Sonora, Mexico. Because of the distance, I only visited once a year, usually around the holidays. Those trips were filled with sushi outings, fashion lessons, museum visits, and movie nights. She had a distinct grunge fashion sense, and we were often teased for our style. But in my eyes, we were ahead of our time—our family just couldn’t appreciate a good pair of Doc Martens. Living far away is bittersweet; it teaches you to cherish your time with loved ones, but that time is painfully limited. My last visit with my aunt was in January 2020. I never imagined that our final conversation, a brief 10 minutes and 46 seconds on my birthday, would be our last. Just two days later, my world shattered.

She suffered a fatal stroke while driving, passing away instantly. Miraculously, she didn’t collide with anyone else. It’s a cliché to say she was taken too soon, but the truth is, she was. The timing of the pandemic made everything harder. My parents and I couldn’t attend her funeral due to canceled flights and strict quarantine restrictions. The inability to say goodbye in person made the loss even more devastating.

Though she is no longer here, she lives on in my memories. I still hold onto our shared movie stubs and yogurt shop loyalty cards, tangible reminders of our time together. Navigating life without her has been difficult. She was so proud when I was accepted to UNC-Chapel Hill, excited at the prospect of attending my graduation. That moment never came, but her pride remains with me. Grief is unpredictable—it sneaks up on you in unexpected ways. One moment, you’re laughing at an old memory, and the next, you’re overwhelmed with sorrow.

I’ve shed countless tears, and while the pain may never fully fade, I choose to honor her every day. My aunt had a deep love for butterflies, symbols of transformation and renewal. Now, whenever I see one flutter by, I take it as a sign—a quiet ‘hello’ from her. And in those moments, I know she’s still with me.