When Hunter was almost two years old, the woman who watched him in her home while I was at work had a Rotweiler. His enormous bulk notwithstanding, Titan was a sweet, gentle creature whom Hunter delighted in greeting with a proud declaration of, "Bik! Dok!"

Then, one day, the woman rescued a second Rotweiler. When Hunter walked into her house and was met by this second dog, Hunter froze, entire body tense and wary. It looked kind of like Titan, but something was wrong. This was not his friend.

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When we first visited my great-aunt in the hospice on Wednesday, she had just fallen into a deep, drug-enabled sleep. Hunter looked at her a bit uncertainly, then ran to hug Grandma and tell her about the long train we'd just seen on the way there. I set up the 3' tall Christmas tree that Aunt Barbara had crocheted and decorated so many years ago, and I was grateful that the tiny lights still worked when I plugged it in. Grandma took Hunter's First School Picture that I'd brought, and placed the frame where Aunt Barbara could see it when she awoke.

Hunter and I stayed for a while, chatting with Grandma and the nursing assistant. When it was time to leave, I asked Hunter if he wanted to kiss Aunt Barbara goodbye. His eyes widened, and he shook his head in a definite "no."

Thursday, Hunter and I spent the morning with Grandma at her house. It seemed quiet without Aunt Barbara's perpetual television on. I helped with some laundry, cleaned the bathtub -- little things to make life a little easier. Hunter and I stayed with the plumber (among other things, the main line to Grandma's house had backed up) when Grandma went back to the hospice. Later on, we went to visit again, ourselves.

This time, Aunt Barbara was awake, but she was in such pain it tore my heart to see her. She hadn't been able to eat in five days, and her skin was loose, her movements stiff and feeble.

Hunter stood transfixed in the doorway to the room, eyes round as buttons, refusing to enter.

This looked kind of like Aunt Barbara, but something was wrong. This was not his loving aunt.

Grandma took Hunter for a walk to see the small aviary with its tiny finches while I stayed with Aunt Barbara, holding her hands, rubbing her back, trying to let her know that she wasn't alone and she was loved.

When they returned, he still didn't want to come into the room, so I walked with him, and we ended up joining some carolers from the local college as they sang their way through the hospice.

Friday, both Aunt Barbara's daughter and closest friend of more than 20 years arrived in town to see her. Hunter and I did not join them.

Saturday, Hunter and I went to help my cousin celebrate her son's 7th birthday. My cousin tried so very hard to make it a special day for him, even with everything else going on with the family. The party went very well, and everyone there had a wonderful time. My heart went out to my poor cousin, hurting as she was, knowing that Aunt Barbara was dying, and still loving her son and wanting him to feel special and loved. Afterwards, Hunter and I drove back up the mountain to help another friend celebrate her 40th birthday.

While at our friends' house, I got a call from Grandma saying that Aunt Barbara had died in her sleep that afternoon.

I am so grateful that she is free of her pain and frustration at her body's collapse.

And I mourn the spunky, stubborn old broad I used to live with, the one who did what she wanted, said exactly what she meant, and loved with a deep, fierce loyalty that will not die.