The best thing I inherited from my Aunt Beth was her writing style. She would write my mother long letters, terribly spelled, no punctuation to speak of, always typed and my mother would read them aloud to us as soon as they arrived. I loved the letters. They were streams of consciousness that let us see inside her mind--the mind of a lively and curious woman with lots to say. Her letters taught me that it was important to say what mattered, without fear of judgement, censorship, punctuation, or spelling.
She died of emphysema, claiming with her last breathe that it was the depletion of the ozone layer that caused her not to be able to breath--nothing to do with her multiple pack a day habit. About 8 months later her twin followed, falling down the basement stairs while visiting her niece. The only explanation we had for why she would have gotten up in the middle of the night and tried to go down those particular stairs was that Beth, missing her beloved sister, had finally lost patience and just beamed her up.