weekly reflections

Somebody who had a great impact on my life was my Aunt Theresa. To say she was an amazing artist would be an understatement. She loved to create all forms of art (paintings, sculptures, and jewelry were among her favorites). One of the reasons I looked up to her was because I admired her artistic skill, and art had always been a big part of my life as well. She was an excellent teacher and she was always more than happy to help me with any art project I was working on when I saw her.

Another reason I really looked up to Aunt Theresa was she always had a positive attitude. No matter how she was feeling or what was going on in her life, she always had a smile on her face. She also was quite the storyteller. Anybody who met her would tell you she tells stories like nobody else. When she sat down to begin one of her famous stories, you knew it was going to be good and you would probably be in stitches because of her good humor.

Sadly, Aunt Theresa had to battle severe bouts of cancer. Despite these constant troubles, she kept going and viewed everyday as a gift. It always amazed me that somebody plagued with so many illnesses and pains could be so happy with the simple fact that they are alive for another day with loved ones and family. It is this simplicity and strength that kept her going. About a year ago, however, she passed away from terminal cancer. Not only was she a great example on how to live life, but she also showed how to die gracefully. She died with the peace of Jesus because she always believed in His promise to save even in the darkest hours. My Aunt Theresa will be forever missed and loved. I am glad to say that I knew her and even more glad to say that she is a wonderful role model.

This killed me...
I love that my mom's niece appreciated those stories as much as I did.
Storytelling was HUGE in our family. Irish storytelling at it's best and my mom had STORIES.

I'm not sure this is unique to myself but, I always viewed my mother as sort of mean- but mean in a mother kinda way, or what I like to call Irish mean. Which is not that dissimilar to a Jewish mother (or Indian or Asian) or probably any generalization
of someone who cares about you enough to be brutally honest and make judgements against you that are not always pretty.
I can see the importance of this now as I deal with a teenager previously raised in a hippy manner (people don't know this but I was a hippy first and foremost- and my wife (INSANELY HIPPY)), were anything is ok and "I trust you to make good choices".
Ouch!
I now see the importance of registering a moral guilt complex. Some type of rudder that says certain things are not acceptable. Decisions have huge consequences. There is a norm that even if you don't support, you do need to go with the flow or you will be crushed. I'm not so sure the methods employed were 100% successful in my case as I'm undeniably OCD neurotic myself. I am, however, a completely moral person that's insanely driven and I will not let a dish sit for more than day. And that didn't require any religion!

So, I do have new appreciation for my mother every day, and of course I miss those stories now more than ever, even if when I heard them for the 3rd/100th time I may have been drifting... I could still love the storyteller.