On October 11th, a very special woman left this earth. She was most certainly bound for greatness in heaven for that is the way she lived on this earth. This woman was by marriage, my Great Aunt, however more important than that fact, she was my mother’s best friend. It is great family lore as to her coming into our family in such a big way, but that is for another story.
To illustrate this story, I chose a photo of my mother and my Aunt when they were sixteen. There is so much one can garner from their poses. When I look at it, I straighten my backbone and hold my head erect knowing that the tiara I inherited from them needs to always remain straight for I descend from some pretty astounding women – my grandmother and great-grandmother all the way down through my lineage were women who bore struggles, private challenges and magnificent triumphs. And, although there were profound differences in our circumstances, we all turned out the same: stubborn, educated women with a weakness for spreading kindness.
I will leave you with this magnificent prose from the one and only Maya Angelou, it speaks volumes to the loss I feel from the departure of this splendid woman from my life.
Dedicated to Shirley Harvey White ~ Born 3/1/1930 – Died 10/11/2020 ~ Rest in Peace my darling, this world was a better place with you in it.
When great trees fall, boulders on distant hills shudder,
Lions hunker down in tall grasses,
And even elephants lumber after safety.
When great trees fall in forests,
Small things recoil into silence,
Their senses eroded beyond fear.
When great souls die, the air around us becomes light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly. Our eyes briefly see with a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened, examines,
Gnaws on kind words unsaid, and promised walks never taken.
Great souls die and our reality, bound to them, takes leave of us.
Our souls dependent upon their nurture,
Now shrink wizened.
Our minds formed and informed by their radiance fall away.
We are not so much maddened
As reduced to the unutterable ignorance of dark, cold caves.
And, when great souls die, after a period peace blooms
Slowly and always irregularly.
Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric vibration
Our senses restored, never to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed! They existed!
We can be, and be better because they existed.
-Maya Angelou