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maestrateresa's eulogy
Oct. 6th, 2007 07:34 pmThis is what I wrote for Teresa's eulogy, though I delivered it slightly differently.
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Wherever Teresa is, you know that she's really mad because we're having a huge party, with all her friends and family, and she can't come to it.
Everyone here knew Teresa, but by a slightly different name – Teresa Schulte, Teresa McCartney, Teresa le Merchant. One thing she was always clear on, though, was that she was always the same person underneath, always Teresa, no matter where she was or who she was with.
She was wickedly smart – she got a 98 on her last assignment for school, despite, as usual, worrying about what a poor job she had done. Teresa always felt that her older sister, Dianna, was the smart one. Teresa was very pleased when one time her friend Susan, who had a Ph.D. in some esoteric science from Stanford, said, "She's the smart one?" Teresa always tried for vowels on her report card, and that's what she got.
The first thing most people noticed about her was her smile. Ariel has that same smile, the Cheshire Cat smile, that fills the room. Teresa smiled a lot when she was with her friends and family, because she loved us and would do anything to be with us. She came to Mists Bardic directly from the hospital, because she knew her friends would be there to play with.
She once sewed a giant sunshade, big enough to invite all her friends into, and named it Trouble, so everyone could get into Trouble together. She was kind, and friendly, and loving, but not exactly nice – she would hate to be thought of as nice. At the Heaven and Hell Halloween party last year, she wore a red dress, not a white one. I don't think she really fooled anyone, though.
She sang in the choir, both in the SCA and in church, and was surprised to discover she was a tenor. She loved to dance, and when her body wouldn't let her dance anymore, she danced inside. I've been a scribe here for eighteen years, and from the very first, she was there beside me, as we learned how to use gold leaf and research real period work. She was a beautiful artist, and was recognized for it, but she was always said her mother was the real artist, and was very proud of what her mother could produce.
She was most proud of her children, Ariel and Morgan, and how well they've grown up into adults. She loved them as the interesting people they've become, with their funny senses of humor, Ariel's mad figuring-out skills, Morgan's ability to plan for wanted and to get it. I'm proud of her children, too.
When I found out Teresa had left us, I wasn’t surprised. My reaction, I suspect, matched a lot of yours: Damn. It's finally happened. Teresa wasn't a saint, despite having the Company of St. Teresa named after her (she's the patron saint of replaceable body parts). She hated all the bad things that happened to her, and more bad things happened to her than to any six other people. What made her special was that after her anger and despair, and there was a lot of it, she dealt. She didn't whine. She didn't expect people to make allowances for her. She decided what she wanted, and she kept going. She knew that if she slowed down, she'd stop, and she refused to stop. She had people to see, friends to hang out with, family to visit, new ideas to learn, and she was going to do all of it. Her candle burned at both ends, but she revelled in the light. Let's remember her shining.
--------------
Wherever Teresa is, you know that she's really mad because we're having a huge party, with all her friends and family, and she can't come to it.
Everyone here knew Teresa, but by a slightly different name – Teresa Schulte, Teresa McCartney, Teresa le Merchant. One thing she was always clear on, though, was that she was always the same person underneath, always Teresa, no matter where she was or who she was with.
She was wickedly smart – she got a 98 on her last assignment for school, despite, as usual, worrying about what a poor job she had done. Teresa always felt that her older sister, Dianna, was the smart one. Teresa was very pleased when one time her friend Susan, who had a Ph.D. in some esoteric science from Stanford, said, "She's the smart one?" Teresa always tried for vowels on her report card, and that's what she got.
The first thing most people noticed about her was her smile. Ariel has that same smile, the Cheshire Cat smile, that fills the room. Teresa smiled a lot when she was with her friends and family, because she loved us and would do anything to be with us. She came to Mists Bardic directly from the hospital, because she knew her friends would be there to play with.
She once sewed a giant sunshade, big enough to invite all her friends into, and named it Trouble, so everyone could get into Trouble together. She was kind, and friendly, and loving, but not exactly nice – she would hate to be thought of as nice. At the Heaven and Hell Halloween party last year, she wore a red dress, not a white one. I don't think she really fooled anyone, though.
She sang in the choir, both in the SCA and in church, and was surprised to discover she was a tenor. She loved to dance, and when her body wouldn't let her dance anymore, she danced inside. I've been a scribe here for eighteen years, and from the very first, she was there beside me, as we learned how to use gold leaf and research real period work. She was a beautiful artist, and was recognized for it, but she was always said her mother was the real artist, and was very proud of what her mother could produce.
She was most proud of her children, Ariel and Morgan, and how well they've grown up into adults. She loved them as the interesting people they've become, with their funny senses of humor, Ariel's mad figuring-out skills, Morgan's ability to plan for wanted and to get it. I'm proud of her children, too.
When I found out Teresa had left us, I wasn’t surprised. My reaction, I suspect, matched a lot of yours: Damn. It's finally happened. Teresa wasn't a saint, despite having the Company of St. Teresa named after her (she's the patron saint of replaceable body parts). She hated all the bad things that happened to her, and more bad things happened to her than to any six other people. What made her special was that after her anger and despair, and there was a lot of it, she dealt. She didn't whine. She didn't expect people to make allowances for her. She decided what she wanted, and she kept going. She knew that if she slowed down, she'd stop, and she refused to stop. She had people to see, friends to hang out with, family to visit, new ideas to learn, and she was going to do all of it. Her candle burned at both ends, but she revelled in the light. Let's remember her shining.
