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 . . .
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