When I think of Theressa, I can’t think of just one moment, one memory, or one story I could tell that would capture my love for her. Instead, I think of a flood of memories of small, quiet acts.
Growing up, there are certain places that become anchors in your life—places where you feel safe, seen, and cared for without condition. For me, Theressa’s home was one of those places. She had this incredible way of making everyone who walked through her door feel like they belonged there. There was never a question of whether you were welcome—you just were. And more than that, you were cared for.
She gave so much of herself, not in grand gestures meant to be noticed, but in the way she showed up day after day. Her generosity wasn’t just something she did—it was who she was. She gave her time freely, her attention fully, and her love without hesitation. As a child and a teenager, I didn’t have the words to describe what that meant. But looking back now, I understand just how rare and far reaching that kind of presence is.
There are moments I return to in my mind—sitting in the living room with her, running errands like going to take Sammie Jo to the groomer, laughter filling the room, the sense of ease that came simply from being there. And of course, there was her meatloaf. I’ve racked my brain trying to figure it out and tried for decades to match it … but the truth is, I never have. Because what made it so good wasn’t just what went into it—it was her. She made it with the same care and love she gave to everything and everyone in her life, and that’s not something you can measure or replicate.
As I got older, I came to realize that Theressa had given me something that extended far beyond those childhood years. She helped shape what I believe kindness looks like. She showed me the importance of creating space for others, of offering comfort without needing recognition, of loving people in a way that’s steady and real.
And that love didn’t stop with her—it lives on so clearly in her daughter, Tonya, my nearest and dearest friend. The same generosity, the same warmth, the same steady presence that made Theressa so special is reflected in the person Tonya is.
Theressa was, in so many ways, a second mother to me. And while I may not have said it, I carried that with me—and I still do. Theressa made the world feel softer, safer, and kinder just by being in it. And I will always be grateful that I got to be one of the many lives she touched so deeply.
To Tonya and your entire family, please know how deeply your mother was loved, how far her kindness reached, and how her legacy lives on—not just in each of you, but in all of us who were lucky enough to be cared for by her.
