My Little Auntie: A Model for Us All (1918-2012)

My little auntie died in my arms just after dinner Monday night and we will be burying her today  . . .  This October, she would have been  94 years old. . . 

Every Morning this week, I have awakened with my eyes filled with tears of Grat

I had the privelege of taking care of my little auntie after retiring from my private practice as a clinical psychologist. I am her oldest nephew and the son of her sister, Gertrude. I was confirmed at what was then St. Andrews in 1960 and was very close to my aunt when I was growing up. Below are my recollections which will be used for her service. I have asked to have the presiding priest use it, and he has agreed to do so. I can't say it without becoming overcome with tears of gratitude and loss.

Barbara was upbeat, inspired and inspiring and led an active life. She never complained, ever, no matter how bent over and how much it was a struggle for her to shuffle along with her walker.  She was always delighted by the sky, saying, "look at that awesome sky," whether gray or blue, stormy or clear, it was always awesome to her. She loved animals. Every dog was "my favorite friend" and a "handsome four-legged wonder."

Despite her impaired short-term memory due to dementia, she somehow played bridge with her lifelong friends most of whom are no longer with us. On her daily walks, she greeted everyone, not by name, of course, but with her infectious smile.  Up until 3 years ago when she turned 90, she walked all through her neighborhood which included the area of Wilmington known as 4o Acres as well as Rockford Park and the Brandywine from the wooden bridge near her home to the Market Street Bridge. She would tell people how she had been all over the world, and she had. Her trips involved birding, and hiking or biking between hotels, hostels, or camp sites. She was hiking in Cuba just days before Castro took over. She would say how the guide would get news daily about Castro's progress so that the group she was with flew out in time. She was in Tennamin Square in China when the commotion started and the guide told the group to stand still close to a nearby wall as shots fired.  Just moments earlier, she was so pleased when a 10-year-old Chinese boy approached her, asking, "May I walk with you? I want to practice my English." Then, it broke her heart when a guard suddenly grabbed the boy by he arm and whisked him away. She was also fond of relating how she had the smallest camel to ride when on safari in the Sahara Desert. She would delightedly recount how, at the end of each day, her camel was eager to be fed and would dart in ahead of all the larger camels.

She hiked the entire Appalachian Trail from Maine to Georgia, doing sections during her vacations and weekends off from the DuPont Experimental Station. Of course, she hiked the trail only when she wasn't sailing on her sailboat out of Northeast River Yacht club or traveling abroad. She was an outstanding athlete with trophies in tennis, golf, bowling. She won the Irene DuPont classic golf tournament 3 years in a row, and the third year came from behind.

Above all, even when weakened and  only able to walk with someone pulling her walker, and hunched over from the severe osteoporosis, she demonstrated what only  so few among achieve: unconditional-no-matter-what-happens happiness. Rain or shine, barely able to move or at the peak of her athletic ability, she was always happy. A rainy day was a "good day. It was a good day for reading, or good day for a jigsaw puzzle" or just "a good day to be lazy."

What was said by the angel Clarence in the Frank Capra film classic, It's a Wonderful Life applies to Barbara's life, leaving out the masculine pronoun, "Each person's life touches so many other lives. When she isn't around. she leaves an awful hole . . .". She was loved and will be missed by all those who knew her well or only on her daily walks  and she will be welcomed by those who knew har who have preceded her and have been waiting for her to come Home. , including her beloved younger sister, Gertrude, my mother, and her younger brother, Hank.

Often, as she admired the clouds, Barbara used to say, "When I was a little girl, I pictured myself jumping from cloud to cloud, As Wordsworth wrote, "Trailing clouds of glory do we come from God who is our home" and now, dear Barbara,  traililig clouds of glory do you return to God who is your home . . .

Drop the Story & Flap Your Wings

I just returned from a weekend in the Adirondacks with my friend Ron who has a house there. The Mayan elders taught me how God talks to us all the time through nature. Of course, God is not restricted to communicating through nature. God talks to us through everything, even through our technological world: our computers, cars, TV shows, movies, radio shows, etc. Over the three days, deer, blue heron, red squirrel, hawk, and hummingbird crossed my path and my friend's. Each had some 

quality I could apply to my life situation and they each had something relevant to say about the circumstances in my friend's life. We could each draw upon the gentleness o deer, the self-reliance and sturdy patience of  of blue heron, the non-aggressiveness yet resourceful protectiveness of red squirrel, the infinite joy of hummingbird, and the recognition that they all come to us courtesy of hawk—the messenger of Great Spirit, God. 

In a New Earth, Ekhart Tolle uses the example of what two ducks do after they have a fight. "They separate, go off, and flap their wings, releasing the stored up energy, and then float on peacefully as if nothing had happened.

"If the duck had a human mind, it would keep the fight alive by thinking, by story making. This would probably be the duck's story. "I don't believe what he just did. He came to within five inches of me. He thinks he owns this pond. He has no consideration for my private space. I'll never trust him again. Next time, he'll try something else just to annoy me. I'm sure he's plotting something already. But I'm not going to stand for this. I'll teach him a lesson he won't forget. And on and on the mind spins its tales, still talking about it days, months, or years later. 

"As far as the body is concerned, the fight is still  continuing. . . . this is how most humans live all the time. No situation or event is ever really finished. The mind and the mind-made me and my story keep it going. We are a species that has lost its way. Everything natural, every flower or tree and every animal have important lessons to teach us if we would only stop, look, and listen. Our duck's lesson is this: flap your wings, which translates as let go of the story and return to the only place of power, the present moment?"

• Consider how much we keep our upsets alive by the stories we tell ourselves about the events in our lives. Rather than keep reviewing and thereby continuing to stress ourselves, we can try flapping our wings with the mantra of compassion. Picture the person who upsets you, and silently say to him or her, "I know in my heart, you would have done differently if you really could have done differently, but you couldn't (not yet anyway) so you didn't."