This is one of the few photos of my Grandma’s sister, Vera. I put it on top of a napkin embroidered by her.

All of Aunt’s possessions fit into several suitcases. There she kept a photo album, postcards with her favorite shots from Soviet movies, a supply of pills, and some clothes.

She never wore new things. Once I saw her beautiful black slippers with gold embroidery, and I asked her why she didn’t wear them. My aunt answered me: “When they bury me, they will bury me in these slippers.”

My aunt did not live alone, but she was as lonely as a person can be. She had no children and no husband. She lived with us, and my Grandma was her sister — but my Grandma was busy, she didn’t have time to talk to her sister, and my mother and I just didn’t understand her. When I was little, I was afraid of my aunt, who lived in a “dark”, as we called it, windowless room, and never went outside. Aunt Vera helped raise my mom, and then me. As a child, she drew and sculpted beautifully. Aunt Vera was an excellent sewer, and according to Grandma, she also had a talent for storytelling.

I’m sorry that all of this is only now coming together for me. I would like to ask her so many things, but I can’t. I am sad that sometimes we don’t know how to appreciate not only what we have, but also the people who live near us.