When I was a child, I loved it when Aunt Judi (my mother's sister) would come by our house. She would show up at our door unannounced, on a day as stagnant as summer air, and she'd cannonball into our lives with a glorious metaphorical splash -- spraying us all with laughter and mischievous news for a few moments.
Aunt Judi never lingered long during her "pop-ins"; after all, she always had so many places to go and people to care for. But her brief little dives into our day always left me feeling refreshed. She was like a mermaid, flipping her tail merrily and stirring up my own torpor and boredom (the ever-present medium in which we '70s children lived). She always left before I wanted her to, and when she left, she didn't just walk away, she glided away, trailing a dreamy wake of giggles and the faintest scent of something fresh and powdered.
I adored Aunt Judi, adored the way hugging her was like being wrapped for a moment in silk. I can still hear her voice its tangy musicality, its magical fusion of authoritative opinions and magnolia-petal southern charm.
She spoke her mind, Aunt Judi did, and I admire her today for being willing to be authentic and true to herself. No wonder I loved her so as a child; to a shy, reserved little girl, she was the larger-than-life embodiment of a woman on the go and loving every minute of it (even the minutes exasperated her).
And Aunt Judi, your mark upon my soul is indelible. Knowing you all my life has enriched me forever, and the kind of sweetness with which you filled me up is now the sweetness I have to give to others in my life. Somehow I think you would have wanted it just that way.
Somehow, I suspect you knew it was exactly that way. Because you knew the world's best-kept secret: That love is not a finite resource; on the contrary, love in action creates more and more and more love.
All my love and appreciation, dear Aunt Judi. I will remember you always and pay forward all of the love you showed me (with interest).
Mary B.