The night my brother died, my "Aunt" Peggy and "Uncle" W. came to the house and brought us home to their apartment. They made us feel safe and loved. On the day of my brother's funeral, my "Aunt" Peggy kept us at her and my "uncle's" apartment b/c we didn't want to go. We were making cookies or a cake and I accidentally called her Aunt Piggy. I didn't think of her as being overweight, though she was a little. At that age (6), I didn't realize that it was wrong to call someone Piggy and so kept calling her that. So we joked and laughed about it. When I talked to my mom on the phone and told her my new name for Aunt Peggy, my mom was not pleased, but Aunt Peggy assured her everything was OK. I loved the two of them so much. They died years ago. My uncle first. My aunt told me that they read a letter I wrote them to my uncle before he died. I didn't even know that he was sick; I'd just written them a letter out of the blue. It was the first time I'd written in a couple of years. They were such beautiful souls.