Aunt Grace, my mother’s brother’s wife. I can’t remember when we first met, although I’m sure she does–I was still in diapers, the kind that had pins and were used over and over. She claimed to have change my diaper. I meant to thank her for that, but never found the right words. She lived in Memphis, two hundred miles away, and before the interstate a long, long way. She didn’t change it very often.I’d see her and Uncle John on holidays either in Missouri or at her home on Forest. She and Uncle John had an elegant two story with a big porch, a giant dog pen in the back, and a nearby park with squirrels that I wasn’t supposed to shoot. It’s a challenge to shoot a squirrel with a Model 94 replica BB gun. Aunt Grace never told on me. Squirrels are just rats with busy tails, she’d say. Mata’s dogs didn’t care for them either.If we weren’t hunting vermin in the park we’d play checkers or backgammon. I was a better shot with a BB gun but she always won at board games. Was it just me or did she seem competitive to everyone else too?Eventually she moved to the Tiger Den–that’s what I call her place in Germantown. Those who mattered to Aunt Grace know what I mean.I didn’t visit her enough–that’s my loss. But when I’d call she’d fill me in on all that she’d done since our last visit. Aunt Grace lived a full life. She was a high energy classic full of grace, wit, compassion, and love. We must say goodbye, others are now saying hello.