Losing Aunt Nini: Heaven’s Gain, Our Celebration of Her Life
Aunt Nancy—Nini to my dad’s side of the family—was the kind of person who could light up a room without flipping a switch.
Aunt Nancy ran a birth clinic in Cookeville, TN, which means she spent her days talking people into keeping things—fetuses, babies, faith, hope—while I’ve spent mine trying to talk myself out of keeping things—grudges, clutter, expired yogurt...
Now, I believe in a woman’s right to choose, but I also believe in the undeniable fact that Nini’s work changed lives. She didn’t just talk about love; she embodied it. If Jesus needed a marketing department, she and my grandmother would’ve been co-CEOs. They had a faith so big, it could’ve qualified for its own ZIP code.
Of course, Aunt Nancy wasn’t the only powerhouse in the family. Her sisters, Aunt Becky and Aunt Susan, are magical women in their own right, and my dad, John, has held his own as the token brother in a sea of strong-willed women. Together, they made up a kind of holy chaos—a force of nature bound by blood, faith, and an uncanny ability to make you feel both deeply loved and slightly unprepared for the level of conversation you were about to have.
Aunt Nancy was kindness in human form, proof that you don’t have to agree with someone to admire them. She walked the walk, talked the talk, and somehow made both look effortless. Now she’s undoubtedly swapping stories with the angels, organizing heaven’s pantry, and making sure everyone up there feels just as loved as she made us feel down here.
But Aunt Nini’s greatest joy? Her two girls, who inherited not only her heart but also her drive to spread love wherever they go. And then came the grandkids—oh, the grandkids. If you thought she loved her daughters, you should have seen her as a grandmother. She didn’t just dote on them; she elevated grandparenting to an art form. Snacks, stories, hugs—she had an unlimited supply, and no grandchild of hers ever went a minute without knowing they were adored. If heaven has a rocking chair, you can bet she’s in it, still loving, still nurturing, and probably sneaking an extra cookie to an angelic grandbaby.
If grief teaches us anything, it’s that love doesn’t leave—it just changes addresses. And knowing Aunt Nancy, she’s still answering calls, just from a much different place.
LIght love peace and prayers we may all learn to live through Christ as my precious Aunt Nancy did!
Catherine V.
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