For as long as I have known her - nearly two years - Awan's aunt has had cancer. Meeting her you wouldn't realize that she was suffering from a terminal illness. Well into her seventies, she seemed a woman crippled by age, not illness. Behind the lines on her face her eyes sparkled. Each time I met her, she would struggle to her feet, grab my hands with her two hands and greet me effusively in bahasa Indonesia, slowly and clearly enunciating her words for my benefit.

I have never been told her name. Awan refers to each of his three elderly aunts as “Aunty” and seems a bit surprised that I don’t automatically know which one he is talking about. I stopped asking long ago, instead adopting the rather insensitive “Cancer Aunty”, “Blind Aunty” and “Loud Aunty”.

A month ago, Cancer Aunty’s health took a turn for the worse. X-rays showed that the cancer had spread to her bones, leaving them brittle, to the point that the slightest pressure would cause them to break. Soon, she was unable to walk without the asistance of crutches. Eventually, she was confined to a wheelchair.

Sadly, the sudden decline in her physical condition reflected the fact that the cancer was winning. A week ago, she stopped responding to the medication. The doctors tried changing medication, to no avail. Without drugs, she was in constant pain. It seemed to me that she wouldn't last much longer.

On Wednesday afternoon, she slipped into a coma. There being little that the doctors could do and, perhaps seeing the inevitable, sent her home.

For the next two days, day-to-day life stopped for Awan and his family. His aunt lay at home, unconscious most of the time. Her daughter, Wihartin, and two sisters were with her constantly, bathing her and talking quietly with her. Awan's childhood friend, Freddy, read quietly from the Koran, taking short breaks as family and friends came to pay their respects. For two days she was surrounded by her family and friends.

Then on Friday night at 8:35 p.m. she passed away.

I have never experienced the pain of the death of someone so close. Witnessing Awan and his family experience this was touching and deeply moving. Their grief is evidence of how she touched each of their lives so profoundly. It is evidence of the love they had - and still have - for her. How can anyone not be moved by proof of love?