At a time when the Internet daily shoves images of the ideal beauty at me, none compare to this woman who has so richly impacted my life.
|Aunt Jeanne Marie, Nora, Sheila, and me|
Once, as a little girl, I sat in the bathroom and watched Aunt Jeanne Marie go through her nightly ritual of washing her face. When I asked her what she was doing, she said, “Honey, whatever you do for your skin it will appreciate.” But today, Aunt Jeanne Marie isn’t beautiful because of the moisturizer she used. She’s beautiful because of the woman she became.
Her’s was a life like most of ours, filled with grief and sorrow, joy and triumphs. But she chose to focus on the good. Like when she could have no children of her own, so she stepped in and helped my mother raise her six.
Today, she and my Uncle Eugene live in a little house in San Francisco. They don’t have much because they enjoyed giving most of their possessions away.
|Aunt Jeanne Marie, my granddaughter Juliette, Uncle Eugene, my sister Sheila|
It’s easy when we’re young to rely on our exterior appearance. But by the time we’re in our fifties, our face tends to reflect the people we really are. Our wrinkles are the imbedded joys, sorrows, and tensions we’ve chosen to spend our lives focusing on.