We all had a special name to call our aunt. Some of us called her Gugi, Gin, Ma, Betty Crocker, nana Ginny, and of course Virginia. To us she was auntie and we were blessed to have been able to call her that.
Auntie had a certain kind of magic about her, that we never quite understood. Was it the way she made our headaches disappear or her ability to use Facebook better than some young adults? Her magic came from her constant generosity of not only gifts, but her words. Though sometimes her words made you blush, she was most often times right.
Auntie was not a woman who cared about labels. What she truly cared about was her family, her tradition and East Boston. She was always so proud to say she was from East Boston. As we were going through some of her papers, we noticed a letter she had written to Bishop Hennessey and the last paragraph, she wrote "I never wanted to retire down in Florida or the cape, thanks, but no thanks, I love East Boston and I'm so proud to live here", in reading that quote you can almost hear her voice and the pride she had.
Auntie's love for family and friends was unmatched. She loved spending any day she could with her family. No matter the occasion, a birthday party, a holiday or a bowl of soup, she was always there. She just needed to know what time you would be there to pick her up.
We would be remiss not mention her son, our cousin Gene. You were the light of her life, her hero. When you entered the room her eyes would sparkle as a proud Mother's always do.
Auntie you have quite a bit of catching up to do with those who have gone before and we know they will take care of you. Words can't describe the loss we feel, no one will be able to fill your seat at our table or your spot in our hearts. We feel a little better knowing we have one more pair of beautiful eyes watching over us. We will remember the good times we had together and all the laughs we shared. Thank you for being an amazing friend, daughter, sister, mother and auntie to all of us. You will not be forgotten. We love you.
