Do all the
good you can.
“Well hey,
Renee, I didn’t see you there. When did
you get into town?” At this point, Aunt
Diane would wrap me in a hug so tight that my face was lodged somewhere in the
hair perched on top of her head. As soon
as she let me go, she’d look into my eyes and say, “You look so pretty.” This is when I rolled my eyes at her…no one
looks pretty after driving for several hours.
But you could always count on Aunt Diane to pick you up. She spoke with such sincerity that you had no
choice but to believe her.
By all the
means you can.
“Gift giving”
was quite a specialty for Aunt Diane.
In our family, a birthday is always just
cause for a celebration. And you could
always tell exactly which gift was from Aunt Diane…a gift bag, with multi-colored
tissue, ribbon, and a balloon. I used to
wonder how she always managed to find balloons for every occasion…and always in
your favorite color. The contents of the
bag were much less predictable. Aunt
Diane had this masterful way of knowing exactly which random gift you
needed. Like the little metal table that
sits in the corner next to my fireplace.
It’s the perfect size for a picture frame and my Scentsy. The colors match my living room. It is exactly what I didn’t know I
needed. And the glass flowers nestled
between my U-Verse box and picture frames.
I remember opening the flowers and thinking, “Glass flowers…what am I
going to do with glass flowers?” Now I
can’t imagine not having them.
In all the
ways you can.
Aunt Diane always
had a style all her own. No one could
rock a pair of acid washed cut-off shorts like she could. She wore white scrunch socks long before, and
long after, the Saved by the Bell crew made them cool. She always managed to tie her hair in a loose
bun on the top of her head. I used to
think it was magic that kept the little bun in place. Wisps of hair fell across her forehead and
around her ears, but her earrings were never missed. The woman had some of the largest, and
heaviest, earrings I have ever seen. Not
even a surgery to repair some of the damage caused by the heaviest ones could
dampen her style. She could wear bright
red or pink lipstick like no other.
Through it all, she was herself…and she showed us that you should never
be afraid to just be yourself.
In all the
places you can.
For several
years, Diane and Kinsey lived on the other side of the pasture at the end of
our street. When we were little, Alicia
and I would walk up the street, climb the fence, dodge the piles of horse poo,
climb the other fence, and then walk into the little white house. Once inside, Aunt Diane would welcome us with
hugs and ask if we wanted something to drink.
It was in this house that I learned to love Drop Dead Fred. We would all pile on the large sectional sofa,
wrap up in blankets, and laugh until it hurt when Fred slid all over the kitchen
floor. It was years before I actually
knew what he meant when he looked up the mom’s skirt and whispered, “Cobwebs.” Although small and filled with one-too-many
elephant statues, Aunt Diane’s home was always full of warmth and laughter.
At all the
times you can.
When Aunt
Diane was in charge, you knew you were going to have a good time. When Jurassic Park came out in theaters, it
was Aunt Diane who loaded up all of the kids and took us to the movies. We sat in the main theater at the Rialto…about
four rows from the front. The dinosaurs
roared and charged and destroyed the park…and Aunt Diane snored. She fell asleep. For her, a trip to the movies wasn’t about
enjoying the show. A trip to the movies
was about showing the cousins a good time.
To all the
people you can.
In a family
as large as ours, sharing a meal requires a pretty good amount of food. No matter what the main course might be, the
meal was never complete without bread.
This seemed to be Aunt Diane’s specialty. She always brought the bread…rolls, to be
exact. I don’t know what kind of rolls
she bought or why they were her favorite, but I’ll never forget the look on her
face as she walked in the front door….frazzled. “I’m sorry I’m late!” she’d
call. (And she always was.) That’s when the scent of hot rolls would waft
through the air, and miraculously no one minded that she was twenty…or thirty…or
forty minutes late.
As long as
ever you can.
Aunt Diane
left this world on Christmas Eve. Her absence
is painful. And while we know that she
is looking down on us, we miss her. I
miss her. I miss her smile. I miss her laugh. I miss the way always carried a purse that
was much too big for her petite frame. I
miss the way she never called my dad by his name and the way she doted and
fussed over Mawmaw even though she could barely take care of herself. I miss the way her eyes sparkled when she
watched the kids play. In her absence, I’ll
do my best to remember John Wesley’s words and the lessons Aunt Diane taught us
through them…
Do all the
good you can.
By all the
means you can.
In all the
ways you can.
In all the
places you can.
At all the
times you can.
To all the
people you can.
As long as
ever you can.
Because Aunt
Diane showed me that I can.