One of the biggest regrets in life can be never getting the chance to say goodbye. I'd always thought that that was one of the biggest cliches ever. Until April twenty sixth, 2010. That was the day my Aunt Rhonda passed away. I remember waking up and finding it odd that my dad had taken the day off from work. When I asked him about it, he told me that Aunt Rhonda had passed away during the night. Hot tears instantly flooded my eyes upon hearing this. They burned my cheeks as they silently slid down my face. I couldn't believe it. I didn't even get a chance to say a real goodbye. Sure, every time I visited her I'd tell her that I loved her right before I left. But that wasn't a real goodbye. I wanted the chance to tell her how much she really meant to me.I'll never forget how she would always take my brother, my cousins, and I to the movies at least once a year. She never bought from the concession stand. Instead, she'd hide little bags of gummy bears and bottles of water in a bag for us kids to have during the movie. After the movie, she'd take us all to McDonalds. She'd allow us to play in the play-place for hours. There was always a little bit of drama between us kids and she'd help us work our problems out then send us back to play. She was one of the most patient people in the world. When we'd all tired ourselves out playing in the play-place, we'd end the day with a slumber party at Aunt Rhonda's house. I was always sad when it was time for us to leave. As the cancer began taking its toll on my aunt, the movie days became less and less. She just didn't have the energy to deal with seven hyper children anymore. She didn't let the cancer beat her, though. She fought and fought hard. For awhile she won and tried living her life as normally as possible. One summer she decided to come camping with us and quickly fell in love with it. That's one of the things I loved most about my aunt. She was filled with love. One cool summer night we were sitting around the campfire. My aunt was gazing at the fire with a small smile on her face and talking about how next summer she was going to bring a reusable water bottle with her. As soon as the words left her mouth, though, I knew there would be no next summer. Every time I looked at her I could see the effect the cancer had on her body. She was losing weight quickly. When I think back to that summer, though, I don't see her as a frail looking woman. Instead, I remember how happy and strong she seemed every time she drove our quad. That same year was her last Christmas with us. Sometime during the year she had called my mom to say she only had about six months left. By Christmastime she was pretty much bedridden. She could leave her bed, but it was usually only for short periods of time. That was the best Christmas I've ever had. Sure, my Aunt Rhonda couldn't make any of her homemade fudge, cookies, or stuffed mushrooms. But food's not the most important thing in the world. What's important is spending time with loved ones. My Aunt Rhonda smiled so much that Christmas Eve night. I don't think I ever saw the smile leave her face. I know she suffered her last few months. It's hard watching someone you love wither away into nothing. Especially when you're not ready to let them go. On April twenty sixth, 2010, I lost one of the most important people in my life to breast cancer. She fought a long, hard battle, but the cancer eventually won. There will always be a special place in my heart for my Aunt Rhonda. When I think of her, I don't remember the sad times. Instead, I remember her as the beautiful, selfless woman she was. A woman who put others' needs before her own. A woman who loved going to church, baking, spending time with family, going camping, riding quads, cleaning, the songs Little Drummer Boy and I Can Only Imagine. A woman who found the good in people and tried her best to remain positive all the time. A woman whose smile lit up a room and was the type of person that everyone loves. A woman I'm proud to say was my aunt. I never got the chance to say my final goodbye or tell her any of these things. But the last time I ever saw her, I gave her a hug and told her I loved her. And that, I've learned, is enough.