"We'll start with radiation and chemotherapy," the doctor explained after telling my aunt she has breast cancer."I'm much too pretty for that," Regis firmly informed him.
Then she went home.
Regis was accustomed to doing things her way.
Growing up in Port Wentworth, my Dad's family were all nearby. My uncle Ruben lived on the other side of the viaduct. Uncle Bobby lived in South Carolina. We lived in Kentwood, closest to the Savannah River and the railroad tracks.
Aunt Regis lived in exotic Daytona Beach, Florida.
She was a hoot smoking, drinking and she had this way of laughing that sounded like happy drops of rain pelting you from the sky. If she didn't like her husband, she'd get a new one. Regis was not a woman to settle! She also worked at the United Way of all places, helping others needing help.
Of her three children, Debra, Johnny and Sheri, Johnny was my hero. When Grand Dad died, Johnny and I decided it was a good idea to take the little house out behind the one he'd lived in and turn it into a shrine. While my Grandmother and the rest of the family remained inside doing the things you do planning a funeral, Johnny and I took paint and wrote our names and his on the tiny white wooden structure.
We got in trouble of course but I still think Grand Dad Elliott liked it.
And I remember Regis laughed when she saw it.
Recently she fell and hurt herself. The doctor again explained all that he would do to make her better.
"I don't want to do that," she said.
And she stayed true to herself doing everything her own way.
At 84 years old, she survived her other brother Ruben and her younger one, my Dad. Uncle Bobby is laying low these days and I don't blame him.
This morning I find myself celebrating Regis and given the way I've lived my life, wondering how she ended up apparently having far more influence than I ever thought she had.
Thank you Regis. Rain down a little laughter on all of us today.
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